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CONDUCT AND ITS DISORDERS
BIOLOGICALLY CONSIDERED

MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.

TORONTO

CONDUCT

AND ITS DISORDERS

BIOLOGICALLY CONSIDERED

BY

CHARLES ARTHUR MERCIER

M.D., F.R.C.P., F.R.C.S.

PHYSICIAN FOR MENTAL DISEASES TO CHARING CROSS HOSPITAL

EXAMINER IN MENTAL DISEASES AND PSYCHOLOGY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF LONDON

VISITOR OF THE STATE INEBRIATE REFORMATORY, ETC. ETC.

AUTHOR OF ' PSYCHOLOGY, NORMAL AND MORBID,' ' A TEXT-BOOK OF INSANITY,'

' SANITY AND INSANITY,' ' CRIMINAL RESPONSIBILITY,' ETC. ETC.

MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED

ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON

191 1

\Oll
M53c

TO
MY PROFESSIONAL LEADER

G. H. SAVAGE, M.D., r.E.C.P.

-k_ *!?*.>».

PKEFACE

It would appear, 'prima facie, that few studies are
more important than that of Conduct ; for man is
engaged in conduct during the whole of his waking
life, and even the times, places, and occasions of sleep
are parts of conduct. Conduct is what we are all
engaged in, from birth to death ; and yet, though
many departments of conduct are described in many
books, there is not in existence, curiously enough,
any comprehensive study of conduct as a whole — any
general view of the field of human activity.

Ethics, or conduct as right and wrong, has been
studied for millenniums ; the actual conduct of men
in concrete affairs has been, for millenniums, described
in history ; isolated departments of conduct, such as
that which is engaged in the production and distribu-
tion of wealth, and those of many crafts and arts,
have been the subject of study for generations, and
have been described with the utmost care and partic-
ularity ; innumerable societies have been founded for
the promotion of conduct in this or that respect ;
the press teems with books and articles, advocating
conduct of this or that description, setting forth its
advantages, describing its peculiarities, and instructing
the reader how it is to be followed ; but of conduct as

viii CONDUCT

a whole ; of what it is ; of its nature ; its varieties
and kinds ; of their relations to each other ; of its
vagaries and disorders ; no book treats : no study
exists.

In the execution of conduct as a whole, as in that
of its several departments, mankind has contrived to
get along very well without that systematic study of
it, that we term the science of the subject. No
doubt, they can reason very well without studying
books on logic ; they can bake and brew, weave and
tan, make chairs and tables, plough, sow, and reap ;
all without studying these subjects in books ; but no
one doubts that the reasoning faculty is sharpened
by the study of logic ; or that brewers and bakers,
weavers and tanners, carpenters and joiners, farmers
and stock-raisers, are better equipped for their several
avocations by studying them systematically in books ;
and to say the least, no one who is engaged in execut-
ing conduct, that is to say, no living human being,
is likely to pursue his conduct less capably from
having studied it systematically.

Apart from the general advantage to every one
who has to engage in conduct of any kind, of having
a systematic knowledge of that mode of conduct ;
and therefore to every one of having a systematic
knowledge of conduct as a whole ; there are certain
special advantages to be derived from a study of
Praxiology, if I may so term it.

In some departments of knowledge and practice, the
study of conduct as a whole is of prime importance. It
is especially important in Education and in Psychiatry.
If education is, as I think it is now acknowledged to

PREFACE ix

be, the equipment of the young human being for the
arduous struggle in and for life, it is surely desirable
that the educator should be assisted by a systematic
knowledge of the primary and secondary aims of life ;
of their relative importance ; of their meanings ; of
their relations to each other ; of the different ways
in which they may be sought ; as well as of the by-
paths and cross-roads into which the pursuit may be
erroneously directed. It is, however, in the study and
treatment of Insanity, that a systematic knowledge
of conduct at large is most necessary ; for insanity
is in the main, disorder of conduct ; and for disorder
to be estimated, order must first be known. The
first task of the physician, who desires to treat dis-
orders of bodily function, is to learn what these
functions are, and how they are performed in health.
A repairer of steam-engines or motor-cars who had
made no systematic study of the way in which they
work when in order, would scarcely be considered fully
equipped for his task. Yet the psychiatric physician,
whose function it is to treat disorders of conduct, not
only makes no systematic study of conduct, but
denies that such a study is desirable, even if he admits
that such a study is possible.

The difficulty is, of course, that the study of con-
duct never has been systematised. There is no science
of human conduct ; and the question at once arises,
is it possible to create such a science ? Is not con-
duct altogether too variable, too erratic, too much
the creature of choice, and caprice, and chance, and
circumstance, ever to be susceptible of reduction
to system, and to be treated scientifically ? This

h

X CONDUCT

depends much on what we mean by Science ; and
few words have l)een more abused, or used in more
senses, or with more ambiguity, than ' Science ' and
* Scientific'

By the science of a subject, is often meant a
knowledge of the laws of that subject ; and if the
subject has no laws, then of it there can be no
science, in this sense. No doubt, one of the aims
of investigation is to discover those uniformities
that we call natural laws ; but science, though it
depends on investigation, is not the same as inves-
tigation. Again, scientific often means accurate ;
and scientific knowledge is opposed to inaccurate
knowledge. No doubt, another aim of investigation
is to increase the accuracy of knowledge ; but know-
ledge may be scientific and yet be inaccurate. The
progress of science carries with it increase in the
accuracy of knowledge ; and increase of accuracy
implies some inaccuracy to begin with. Science is
none the less science, though it is lacking in perfect
accuracy. In my view, science is organised know-
ledge ; it is systematised knowledge ; and it is as
easy to organise and systematise the knowledge of
human conduct, as of anything else. The advantage
of the systematisation of knowledge is that it enables
us to see exactly in what respects our knowledge is
deficient, as well as to estimate the bearing of one
item of knowledge upon another. Unorganised
knowledge may be compared to a heap of chessmen
piled on a table. From inspection of such a heap,
it would be impossible to tell whether it contained
a complete set, an imperfect set, or a mixture of

PREFACE xi

parts of two or more sets. But if the chessmen are
systematically arranged in their places on the board,
we can see at a glance, not only whether they are all
there, but if not, precisely what piece is missing ;
whether any are redundant, and if so, what are the
redundant pieces ; whether all belong to one set, and
if not, what pieces are intruders. Similarly with the
systematic arrangement of knowledge, which consti-
tutes science. The systematic arrangement enables
us to see at a glance whether, and in what respects,
our knowledge is defective ; whether we have confused
the knowledge of one thing with the knowledge of
another ; and what the relations and bearings are,
of one part of our knowledge with another.

Science, then, is knowledge that is organised or
systematised ; and this book is an attempt to organise
and systematise our knowledge of human conduct.
Until conduct has been investigated on a systematic
plan, it is premature to declare that it is not subject
to law ; for only by systematic investigation are laws
discovered. In one department of conduct, systematic
investigation has been pursued for generations ; and
though there is much controversy as to what the laws
are, no political economist has any doubt, that in the
production and distribution of wealth, the conduct of
mankind does conform to certain natural laws. I do
not pretend to investigate conduct in general with
anything approaching the thoroughness with which
the production and distribution of wealth has been
examined. In the establishment of every science,
two stages are recognisable. The first stage is to
collect facts, to classify and arrange them ; the second

xii CONDUCT

is to discover the laws in accordance with which the
facts occur. It is the first, or natural history stage,
that is here attempted with respect to human con-
duct ; and it seems to me no more difficult to study
conduct systematically, and so to reach that organised
knowledge that we call Science, than to study any
other subject in the same way. According as the
system is good or bad, well or ill adapted to its
purpose, the result will be better or worse ; it will
be rudimentary science or developed science ; but
as long as some system is employed in the investi-
gation, the knowledge will be organised into science
of some kind.

The principle on which the investigation of human
conduct is here made, is the biological principle. I
have estimated the various modes and phases of
human activity, in the light of their value in secur-
ing the survival of man in the struggle for existence.
As judged by this principle, every mode of conduct
has its value, positive or negative ; and most modes
of conduct are positively beneficial at some times, in
some circumstances, in some degree ; and in some
respects ; while they are at other times, in other cir-
cumstances, in other degrees, or in other respects,
injurious. It will come as a surprise, I dare say,
to many, that such modes of conduct as the creation
of beautiful things for the sake of their beauty, or
the observances of religious ceremonial, have a bio-
logical value, and tend to enhance, or to injure, the
chances and prospects of survival in the struggle for
life ; and it may seem, I fear, to votaries of art or of
religion, that such a mode of regarding these phases

PREFACE xiii

of conduct is derogatory to them, and disrespectful.
No disrespect is intended, however ; nor do I think
that any derogation from the high rank and position
that such modes of conduct take among human
activities, need result from the examination of them
on biological grounds, and the appraisement of their
biological value. Viewing them, and all other modes
of conduct, in the dry light of science, it would be
irrelevant and impertinent either to praise or blame ;
either to attack or defend. My aim is merely to
describe and explain ; and if my descriptions are
accurate, and my explanations satisfy the minds of
my readers, I have accomplished my task.

CONTENTS

PAGE

Preface . . . . . . . vii

Introduction ...... xix

BOOK I
ACTION

CHAPTER I

Action as Spontaneous or Elicited . . .3

Action as Abundant or Scanty .... 9

CHAPTEE II

Action as Instinctive or Reasoned . . .12

CHAPTER III

Instinct and Reason . . . . .30

The Fossilisation op Reason into Instinct . . 30

The Liquidation of Instinct into Reason . . .36

CHAPTER IV

Action as Self-indulgent or Self- restrained . .44

Action as Impulsive or Deliberate . . .50

Action as Voluntary or Involuntary . . .53

Action as Novel, Habitual, or Automatic . .55

xvi CONDUCT

CHAPTER V

PAGE

Action as Original or Imitative . . . .64

Action as Crude or Elaborate . . . .68

Action as Play or Work . . . . .71

Action as Skilful or Unskilful . . . .73

BOOK II
CONDUCT

CHAPTER VI

Purposes or Ends . . . . . .77

CHAPTER VII

Directly Self-conservative Conduct . . .88

CHAPTER VIII

Indirectly Self-conservative Conduct . . .115

CHAPTER IX

Social Conduct . . . . . .128

Influence on Conduct of the Mere Existence of Others 130

The Social Instinct . . . . .130

Influence on Conduct of the Presence of Others . 133

Social Inhibition ..... 133

CHAPTER X

Influence on Conduct of the Attention of Others . 139

Shyness : Self-consciousness . . . .139

Influence on Conduct of the Estimation of Others . 145

Ambition: Pride: Vanity: Conceit . . .145

CONTENTS xvii

CHAPTER XI

PAGE

Influence on Conduct of the Approval of Others . 155

Elicited Morality . . . .155

CHAPTER XII

Influence on Conduct of the Liking of Others . 181

Suavity . . . . .181

Influence on Conduct of the Will of Others . .186

Leading and Subordination . . . .186

CHAPTER XIII

Influence on Conduct of the Example of Others . 191

Custom and Fashion . . . . .191

CHAPTER XIV

Influence on Conduct of the Action op Others . 221

1. On Ourselves ..... 221

2. On Others . . . . . .228

3. On Circumstances ..... 234

CHAPTER XV

Spontaneous Social Conduct .... 236

1. Towards the whole Community

Patriotic Conduct . . . .236

2. Towards Sections and Classes of the Community

Philanthropic Conduct . . . 240

CHAPTER XVI

Spontaneous Social Conduct — continued . . . 242

3. Towards Individuals : Spontaneous Morality . 242

a. Self- RESTRAINING or Passive . . . 245

b. Active . . . .261
Antagonism of Social and Self-regarding Conduct . 268

xviii CONDUCT

CHAPTER XVII

PAGE

Social-Eacial Conduct . . . . 274

Chastity and Modesty . . . . .274

CHAPTER XVIII

Racial Conduct . . . . . .288

Courtship ...... 289

Jealous Conduct ..... 299

CHAPTER XIX

Eacial Coi^DVCT—contimied ...... 304

Marital Conduct . . . . 304

Parental and Filial Conduct . 306

CHAPTER XX

Indirectly Vital Conduct . . . . .314

Recreative Conduct . . . . .316

Aesthetic Conduct ..... 325

CHAPTER XXI

Investigation . . . . . . 333

CHAPTER XXII

Eeliqious Conduct . . . . . .347

INDEX . . . . . . .371

INTRODUCTION

Conduct is Action in pursuit of Ends, and is com-
posed of Acts undertaken to attain Ends. To study
conduct systematically, therefore, it is necessary to
discover the nature of action ; the different kinds of
action of which man is capable ; the ends that he
seeks to compass ; the relative importance of these
ends ; the harmony or conflict among them ; their
subordination and superordination to one another ;
the biological reasons on which they are based ; and
any other information we can obtain concerning
them. For the present purpose, we need to discover,
also, the disorders to which conduct is liable.

Action must first be distinguished from movement,
with which it is sometimes confounded. A bodily
movement need not be an act ; and an act need not
be a movement. The movements of epilepsy, of
chorea, of paralysis agitans, and other nervous
maladies, are not acts ; and if we ask why they are
not acts, the answer that would most frequently be
given would be that they are not voluntary — that
they are not initiated or directed by the Will. In
treating of Conduct, however, it is desirable to
eliminate, as far as possible, reference to mental

states and processes. We shall find hereafter that it

xix

XX CONDUCT

is not always possible to eliminate such reference
completely, but at least it should be minimised.
Already there is great confusion between the two
sciences of Psychology and Praxiology, and it is
most desirable to keep them distinct. Moreover,
there are acts, as we shall presently find, with which
the Will is not concerned, and therefore the inter-
vention of volition affords no distinction between
Action and Movement. The true distinction is that
action is always purposive : mere movement is not.
An act always serves an end : a movement need
serve no end. The movements of the nervous
maladies, already instanced, are mere movements,
for they are not purposive. They serve no purpose,
and contribute to no end. May we then say that
action is purposive movement ? By no means, for
there are many acts that are not movements. There
are many acts that are, on the contrary, arrests of
movement, many that consist in suppression of
movement.

Every arrest of movement is not an act, or the
termination of a fall would be an act ; nevertheless,
there are arrests and suspensions of movement that
are as plainly and truly acts as the most elaborate
movements of handcraft. If, in crossing a street, I
stop to let a cab go by, my arrest of movement is as
purposive, as is my resumption of movement when
the cab is passed. When counsel declines to cross-
examine a witness, his abstention is as much an act,
and may have as much bearing on the verdict, as if
he had badgered the witness for an hour. ' Not to
decide is to decide ' says the old saw ; and not to

INTRODUCTION xxi

move is, in many cases, to act. If the police tell me
to move on, and I stop still, I am charged with doing
an illegal act : I am not charged with negligence,
and so to charge me would be wrong, both in law
and in Praxiology. If I see a man drowning, whom
I could save by stretching out my hand, and I
purposely refrain from doing so, I am as guilty of his
death as if I held his head under water. To stare a
person out of countenance is an act ; to stand still is
as much an act as to walk ; to leave off doing a thing,
or to refrain from doing it, is as much an act as to
do it. What imparts to these suppressions and
arrests of movement the quality of action, is their
purposive character. They are not, indeed, move-
ments, but they are things done, and done with a
purpose ; and it is the purpose that constitutes
action. An Act, then, is movement, or arrest or
suppression of movement, done with a purpose.

By an End is meant a purpose. The End is the
purpose served by the Act. Whether it is the end,
in the sense of being the ultimate goal of the opera-
tion, or whether it is a proximate aim, whose achieve-
ment is sought, not for itself, but as a means to some
further end, does not alter its character as an end
for the purpose of the argument. I reach for my
hat for the purpose of putting it on, and this is the
proximate aim or end of the act. This end is not
the ultimate goal of the act, for the putting on of
my hat is but a step to going out ; and this, again,
is a means of getting to the station ; the end of
which is to take the train. The taking of the train
is itself but a means to a further series of ends, — of

xxii CONDUCT

getting to town, seeing my solicitor, executing a deed,
securing property, benefiting my family, and so
forth, and so on. Each of these is an end, but a
proximate or intermediary end. Certain ultimate
ends there are, as we shall find, in one or other of
which all such trains or series of purposes terminate ;
but for the present argument, an end is the purpose
for which any act is undertaken.

The study of Conduct resolves itself into the study
of Action and the study of Ends, or Purposes, and
these two branches of the subject demand separate
and detailed consideration.

The modes of action of w^hich mankind is capable
are various ; or, to put it otherwise, action presents
to our observation various qualities or characters,
any one of which may occupy our exclusive attention.
Each of these qualities varies from maximum to zero,
and then continues to vary, on the minus side, from
zero to maximum. Although each mode of action
must be examined separately, it must be clearly
understood that this separateness is the separation of
analysis, and that any concrete act may display many
or all modes of action in conjunction. The following
Chapters of the first Book contain, therefore, an
examination, not of acts, but of modes of action.

Thus regarded. Action varies according as it is

1. Spontaneous or Elicited.

2. Abundant or Scanty.

3. Instinctive or Reasoned.

4. Self-indulgent or Self-restrained.

5. Impulsive or Deliberate.

INTRODUCTION xxiii

6. Voluntary or Involuntary.

7. Novel, Habitual, or Automatic.

8. Original or Imitative.

9. Crude or Elaborate.

10. Work or Play.

11. Skilful or Unskilful.

For the sake of clearness and emphasis, I repeat
that a single concrete act may exhibit a quality from
every one of these contrasted couples. It may be
spontaneous, abundant, reasoned, self-indulgent,
deliberate, voluntary, novel, original, elaborate, play,
and skilful. All these modes of action are found, by
analysis, to reside in acts.

To the study of Action the first Book is devoted.
The second Book considers the Ends that Conduct
strives to attain, and the means by which these ends
are compassed.

BOOK I

ACTION

CHAPTER I

I. ACTION AS SPONTANEOUS OR ELICITED

If we watch some very simple organism, such as an
amoeba, which is a single cell, we see that, while its
circumstances remain unchanged, the amoeba exhibits
movement, which is to be regarded as amoebic
conduct. It thrusts out a process here ; it retracts
another there ; it becomes contracted in this place ;
it bulges in that ; it forms vacuoles within its
substance ; it changes its shape. These, the simplest
manifestations of rudimentary conduct, in the
simplest organisms, occur spontaneously. They are
not responses to stimulus from without. The
medium in which the animal is contained is motion-
less ; and, during the time of the movements, under-
goes no such local alterations of quality as are
sufficient to account for the large and conspicuous
movements of the amoeba. Whatever changes of
shape, whatever locomotion, whatever motion, take
place in the amoeba, are spontaneous. They arise,
not in obedience to any stimulus applied from with-
out, but out of the inherent activity of the amoeba
itself They are expenditures out of the store of
motion that is accumulated within its substance — of

3

4 CONDUCT

motion that changes from a molecular motion, which
we cannot perceive, to a molar motion that is per-
ceptible to our senses.

The aimless jerkings and sprawlings and cryings
of the new-born infant, are due, or need be due, to
no irritation or stimulus from without, but to libera-
tion of pent-up motion from within. That stimulus
is not needed to provoke movement, is shown by the
fact, known to every mother, that movement is
antenatal. Such movements fall short of acts, it
is true. They can scarcely be called purposive ; and
yet, in a sense, they are purposive. They serve the
purpose of getting rid of some of the stored motion
which is accumulated in excess. In the more de-
veloped and adult human being, the opening of the
eyes on spontaneous waking in the morning, the
throwing off the clothes and getting out of bed, are
due to no stimulus from without, but to the liberation
of motion from within. To the vigorous body comes
a time when retention of stillness becomes irksome —
becomes impracticable. The writer, after several
hours at his desk, the traveller, after several hours
in the train, must rise and stretch his limbs ; must
get out and pace the platform ; not because he is
incited or attracted to do so by any external allure-
ment ; not because he is compelled by any external
disturbance; but because motion has accumulated
within him to a point of tension that overcomes the
resistance opposed to it. When a man starts off for
his game of golf, or his cricket, or his tennis, he does
so, not — certainly not solely — because he is solicited
by his fellow-player to do so, but because he feels the

CHAP. 1 ACTION AS SPONTANEOUS 5

necessity of expending some of the store of motion
within him, whose accumulation is become irksome.
If he did not go to golf, or tennis, or cricket, he
would do something else. He would walk, or ride,
or row, or swim. Some exertion he must take, to
get rid of his contained motion. No fresh man in
the vigour of health can content himself with doing
nothing. If he have nothing to do, he must make
something to do ; for motion must be expended
somehow. If there were no such store of motion,
there would be no conduct, — no action. Man would
not act, because he could not move. Thus it is true,
at the top as well as at the bottom of the scale, in
man as well as in the amceba, that the primary
initiation of conduct, and the possibility of conduct,
is the accumulation within the organism , of a store
of motion that imperatively demands expenditure.

On the other hand, much conduct is initiated by
stimulus from without. The amoeba thrusts out a
process at random, impelled to do so by the inherent
motion of its own cell-body, even when no change
in its surroundings elicits this protrusion ; but the
presence in the medium of a small organic particle,
fit to serve as food for the amoeba, may incite the
protrusion of a process in the direction of the particle,
and the absorption of the particle into the substance
of the process. The new-born child will cry when
it is replete with motion, without the stimulus of
any irritant ; but it will cry when not replete with
motion, if a pin is scratching it. The writer who
has been for hours at his desk, will at length stretch
and yawn in very weariness, that is, to expend

6 CONDUCT

motion that has been long accumulating ; but if he
hears a crash in the next room, he will get up before
he has reached the stretching and yawning stage,
and go to see what has happened. The man who has
had his game of golf or tennis in the morning, and
so expended the motion that demanded expenditure,
may be induced, by the persuasion of his friend, to
play again in the afternoon, even though no inward
craving prompts him to exert himself.

Two partial, and, as I think, erroneous, views of
action are in vogue. There is a school which traces
all conduct back to a root in reflex action, and teaches
that conduct of the most elaborate kind is but highly
developed reflex action : with this doctrine I pro-
foundly disagree. Action, in my opinion, has two
roots, of which reflex action is but one, and the less
important. The mainspring of conduct is not reflex
action, but spontaneous action, — that expenditure of
stored motion that is not elicited by the application
of stimulus, but is the inevitable result of accumula-
tion to a point of tension that breaks down resistance.
If electric tension accumulates on the prime conductor
of a statical machine, we can at any moment elicit a
spark by approaching a conductor to it ; but if we do
not approach a conductor, the tension will accumulate
till it reaches a degree that overcomes the resistance
of the air, and issues in a spark. If the tension of
steam continually accumulates in a boiler, we can at
any time obtain a jet by turning on a valve ; but if we
neglect to do so, the tension will at length find relief
by raising the safety valve, or bursting the boiler.
Continually accumulating motion must find an exit ;

CHAP. I ACTION AS SPONTANEOUS 7

and in the nervous system, motion continually ac-
cumulates ; so that, sooner or later, action becomes
inevitable, whether stimulus is applied or no. Later
on, we shall find a large department of conduct,
known as Recreative, that owes its origin to the
necessity of expending accumulated motion, and
cannot be accounted for by the stimulus of
circumstance.

The other view of action ascribes its origin to
volition ; and finds, in the will of the actor, a
complete explanation of conduct. From this view also
I dissent. In the first place, as we shall find in a
subsequent section, there is a considerable class of
acts that are involuntary, and in which w411 has no
share or concern ; in the second, it is out of place in
a study of conduct, which we must strive to keep as
free as possible from psychological implications, to
explain the origin of conduct in psychological terms.
Our aim is to find explanations that are not psycho-
logical but biological, and in this connexion an ex-
planation in psychological terms is irrelevant.

From the biological point of view, conduct is the
product of two factors — the internal factor and the
external factor — and this double origin will present
itself again and again during our survey. We act ;
and as all acts are movements, or arrests or sup-
pressions of movement, in order to act we must be
able to move ; that is, that we should have at
command a store of motion susceptible of expenditure.
And we act, not in vacuo, but in a world of circum-
stance ; and, in order that we may so act, it is
necessary to take account of circumstance, — it is

8 CONDUCT BOOK I

necessary that we should respond to the impress
of circumstance. Without a store of motion, there
could be no movement, and therefore no action, and
no conduct, since conduct is action : without response
to the impress of circumstance, there could be no
adaptation of action to circumstance, and therefore
no conduct, since conduct is the pursuit of ends by-
modifying circumstances. All action is due to the
co-operation of these two factors, and is controlled,
guided, varied, and determined, by the combination
of the internal factor with the external factor.

The initiation of action may be due to the
internal factor, to the external factor, or to a
combination of the two ; and the continuance or
cessation of action is similarly determined. We may
go on walking as long as it is pleasurable to do so,
and cease when we are tired ; or we may go on until
we find ourselves in a cul-de-sac, or fall into a pit,
and can go no farther ; or we may go on until we
arrive at our destination, and so are arrested by a
combination of the internal with the external factor.
When a bird starts singing, the initiation of the
action is due to the internal factor ; when it flies
from the sound of a gun, the initiation of the action
is due to the external factor ; when it looks for food,
the action is initiated by a combination of both
factors. It may leave off singing because it is tired ;
or because it is frightened away ; or because it sees
a desirable worm within easy distance.

Not only may the initiation, continuance, and
cessation of action be determined by either the in-
ternal or the external factor, or by a combination

CHAP , ACTION AS SPONTANEOUS 9

of the two, but the direction also, that action takes,
may be determined in either of these ways ; and this
leads us to the cardinal distinction between Instinctive
and Reasoned action ; but before considering this
distinction, account must be taken of quantity of
action.

II. ACTION AS ABUNDANT OR SCANTY

According to the amount of motion that his
nervous system contains in store, the action of a
person will be abundant, vigorous, and long-sustained,
or it will be scanty, languid, and brief Few
differences, in the mode of action of difterent men,
are more important than this, or have more effect
on his success in attaining his ends. Almost all
the men who have left their mark upon the world,
and have attained great results in any department
of life, have been copiously endowed with the power
of maintaining vigorous action, for many hours a
day, over long periods. In a few conspicuous cases
— in such cases as those of Charles Darwin and
Herbert Spencer — the power of long sustained
exertion has been impaired by ill-health ; but the
defect, in the number of hours of daily labour, has
been compensated by the regularity with which the
daily task has been done. Though work could be
done for but a few hours every day, those hours were
never omitted ; and the work was of a character that
every hour devoted to it contributed to the same
end. In a few cases — in such a case as the poet
Gray — a man has made his mark upon the world,

10 CONDUCT

and stamped his remembrance on the minds of men,
in spite of indolence and languor, by the exquisite
skill with which he has wrought a single piece of
work. But such cases are rare. Other things
being equal, he will be most successful who is
capable of the most sustained and vigorous action ;
and these qualities of action depend on the amount
of motion that he has at his disposal to expend,
and that his nervous system, therefore, can contain
in store.

In respect to vigour of action, men differ in the
same manner as carnivorous animals, as a whole,
differ from those that are herbivorous. The former
are capable of tremendous efforts, that are spasmodic
and short-lived, breaking the continuity of long
periods of repose ; the latter are capable of uniform
and long-continued exertion of less intensity ; and so
it is with men. Some, we find, interrupt a life that
is on the whole lethargic, by bursts of strenuous but
short-lived energy ; others plod with steady determina-
tion. Mankind are apt to view the latter with the
greatest approval, and to look somewhat askance
upon the former ; and no doubt, for the majority of
men, and in the greater number of occupations, the
latter mode of action is the most effectual ; but the
world would be poorer without its Edward IV. 's, its
Chathams, and its Massenas.

Great deficiency in intelligence, that is in
elaborateness, skill, and originality in conduct, is
often, though not always, accompanied by deficiency
in vigour and sustention of action. Most idiots and
imbeciles are lethargic, and wanting in quantity as

CHAP. I ACTION AS SPONTANEOUS 11

well as in quality of action ; but the association is
not invariable, and dull men may be very industrious.
It is a foible of some brilliant men that high ability
may stand instead of steady industry, but the
assumption is not very often justified.

CHAPTER II

III. ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE OR REASONED

The most important distinction between modes of
action, and that on which several others hang, is the
distinction between Instinctive action and Reasoned
action. For this reason, and because it is not
generally understood, and, even among those who
have examined it critically, there is no consensus upon
it, it is advisable to consider it with some care.

Reason was considered by the ancients the
distinctive possession of man, and all animals below
the status of mankind were denied the possession
of any share whatever of reason. The division, by
Porphyry, of the genus animal, was into rationale
and irrationale, the former including man alone,
and the latter comprehending all the rest of the
animal kingdom. An echo of this ancient dictum
resounds, from time to time, in the columns of the
Spectator, in which instances of reasoned acts, done
by cats and dogs, are given, and are adduced as
evidence that here and there, in isolated instances,
some of the lower animals have evinced a modicum
of reason ; but the thesis that will presently be main-
tained here, that every animal, in every one of its

12

CHAP. II ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE 13

acts, exercises reason to some extent, is one that
would startle even the zoophilists of the Spectator ;
and to their antagonists would partake of the nature
of blasphemy. The curious thing about the discussion
as to whether animals can reason, by which is usually
meant whether or no a single animal here and there,
of the higher grades, has attained the ability of im-
porting a modicum of reason into his usually instinc-
tive action, proceeded for generations without any
attempt to define what was meant by instinctive
action, or by reasoned action, or what is the difference
between the two. Lately, an important symposium
of opinion on the subject has been published, but as
it would be too long to reproduce here, and as my
own view does not agree with that of any of the
contributors to this symposium, I propose to state
my own view without reference to those of my
predecessors.

That pigs do not fly, is a truth with which we are
familiar from our earliest years ; and equally true is
it that chickens do not swim, nor ducklings scratch ;
that men walk on two legs, and horses on four. In
other words, the way in which the inherent motion
of the organism is expended, is determined largely by
external conformation. But it depends not only on
external conformation. It depends also on internal
organisation. If ducklings do not scratch the ground
as chickens do, it is not only because their feet are not
adapted to scratching, but also, and mainly, because
they are wanting in the nervous organisation that
actuates the movement of scratching. If men walk
upright upon two legs, while horses walk prone on

14 CONDUCT

four, it is not only because the whole external organ-
isation of men and horses is adapted to their several
modes of progression, but also because men possess
the nervous arrangements necessary for preserving
the balance in the upright position, and moving the
legs and body harmoniously together for that end ;
while horses possess different nervous arrangements,
for moving the four limbs in alternation.

What is true of the differences in conduct between
one species of animal and another, is true also of the
differences between one individual and another. If
one man expends his accumulated motion in laborious
bodily exercise, while another expends his in internal
rearrangement, by working out some abstruse mathe-
matical or chemical problem, it is because the nervous
organisation of the one is adapted to expend motion
in the one direction, and that of the other is adapted
to expend it in the other. All that we speak of as
* tastes,' ' capabilities,' and so forth, are embodied in
the structural organisation of the nervous system ;
and, according to these differences of nervous organi-
sation, different modes of conduct will be manifested.

Nevertheless, in this matter also, circumstances
play their part. The external factor as well as the
internal factor is potent. A man would rather play
cricket than golf ; for the one he has a natural bent and
aptitude, the other he cares little about, and plays
much less skilfully ; but it requires the common
consent of twenty-two people to play cricket, and
just now that consent is not to be had ; and he can
play golf by himself; so, rather than sit idle at home,
he goes off to play golf In such a case, the external

CHAP, n ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE 15

factor determines the direction in which motion is
expended — the character of the action. No man can
become an accomplished musician who has not a
natural bent and aptitude for music,— a capacity of
feeling certain emotions, and giving expression to
them by musical sounds— and in so far, the action of
musical performance is determined by the internal
factor. But however highly developed his aptitude
for music may be, the musician cannot play
without his instrument ; and in so far the action is
determined by the external factor. However highly
a man may be endowed with natural dexterity, and
the capability of nice manipulation, he cannot
do accurate work without suitable tools. Whatever
his skill in the breaking of unmanageable horses, he
cannot exercise it in a land in which no horses are.
However great an orator he may be, he can neither
convince nor persuade those who do not understand
the language he speaks. In every case, the external
factor, as well as the internal, helps to determine
the nature and character of the action.

So far, while we have found that conduct is
determined by the combination of the internal factor
and the external factor — by natural aptitude working
in circumstances, — we have not reached the problem
of the difference between instinctive conduct and
reasoned conduct. It was necessary, however, to
insist on the combination of these factors before the
problem could be investigated.

The web-spinning of the spider, the nest-building
of birds, and the comb-building of the bee, are usually
considered among the most perfect types and

16 CONDUCT

examples of instinct. It is worth while to examine
them, to seek the quality that is peculiar, and
characteristic of instinctive action ; and I think it will
be found in their fixed and invariable character.

The web constructed by every individual of a
species of geometrical spider, agrees very closely, in
its main features, with the web of every other
individual of that species. Each web consists of a
few main supports, attached at their extremities to
surrounding objects, and enclosing a polygonal area ;
of spokes radiating at equal angles from the centre
of this area, and attached at their peripheral
extremities to its sides ; and of two sets of spirals
attached to the spokes, an inner set, fine and closely
approximated ; and an outer set, thicker and in a
wider spiral. The striking feature of the web is its
geometrical character. The spokes are set at equal
angles ; the spirals are set at equal intervals. In the
features enumerated, the webs of all such spiders are
alike. They do not vary. We can predict, before
the spider has spun an inch of line, that its web will,
when finished, have these characters. As far as these
characters are concerned, the web is completely
determinate in structure. Its construction is deter-
mined, as far as these features are concerned, by the
organisation of the spider ; and the animal cannot
construct a web of any other pattern. Such action
is called instinctive. We give the name instinctive
to action which is determinate ; which is executed
uniformly by every individual of the species ; which
is predictable. Instinctive action, therefore, is that
which is determined entirely by the internal factor,

CHAP. II

ACTION AS INSTINCTIV^E 17

— by the organisation of the animal, — not only as to
its initiation, progress, and conclusion, but also as to
its direction or character.

Another mode of action that is, by universal
consent, regarded as a charactistic example of in-
stinctive action, is the comb-building of the hive-bee.
The comb is built of hexagonal cells, with parallel
sides, and with pyramidal bases composed of three
rhombic plates. The cells are all of the same dimen-
sions ; the walls of the same thickness ; the sheets of
comb are flat, and hang vertically from the roof of
the hive. Every cell in the comb is a perfect
geometrical figure, and every cell is similar to every
other cell, not only in that comb, but in the other
combs in the hive ; and not only in the other combs
in that hive, but in every comb in every hive of the
same species of bee. The cells are made uniformly
by every individual of the species ; their shape, and
size, and material, and disposition, are all deter-
minate. They are predictable. They are due to a
certain mode of action on the part of the bee, that
is predetermined by the organisation of the bee. The
nervo-muscular apparatus of the bee is so constructed,
and so conditioned, that, when it is actuated, or set
in operation, it turns out work of this nature, and
this pattern, with mechanical regularity ; and this
is the character of instinctive action.

A third mode of action that is typically instinctive
in character, is the nest-building of birds. Every bird
of the same species builds its nest in a position, of a
form and mode of construction, of a size, and of
materials, similar to the nest of every other individual

c

18 CONDUCT BOOK I

of the same species. The rook always builds, at the
top of a tall tree, a loosely constructed nest of live
twigs. The tailor-bird always builds in the hollow
made of leaves that it has sewn together. The
kingfisher and the sand-martin always build in holes
excavated in the ground. The wood-pigeon never
builds on a cliff, nor the rock-pigeon in a tree. The
magpie and the long-tailed tit build domed nests
opening at the side ; the tern and the ostrich scoop
holes in the ground. Each bird, in nidification,
follows a course of conduct that is fixed, invariable,
determinate, predictable ; the same for every in-
dividual of the species. Like the spider in spinning
its web, and the bee in building its comb, the bird
does not need to learn from experience how the
instinctive act is to be done. It is done by the
operation of internal mechanism, which, when put
in operation, can act in only one way ; and the
product of the mechanism is as determinate as the
product of an automatic lathe, or a loom. It is this
fixed, invariable, unmodifiable character, that is the
mark and the diff'erentia of instinctive action.

But, although the webs of all spiders belonging to
the same species are precisely alike in all their main
features, save only in size, yet there are, in every web,
features which are peculiar to it alone — features in
which the web of every individual spider differs from
the web of every other ; and in which even the second
and third webs, made by the same spider, difter from
the first, and from each other ; features which are
unpredictable, and are determined, not by the
internal organisation of the spider, working in a

CHAP. II ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE 19

predetermined manner, but by the external circum-
stances, to which the action of the spider is adapted.
The objects, to which the main supports of the web
are attached, differ in every case. Their distance
apart is never the same. Their number varies
widely. In consequence of these differences, the size
and shape of the polygonal area that bounds the web,
are never alike in any two webs — not even in two
successive webs built by the same spider in the same
place. The construction of the web up to this stage,
and in these respects, is adapted to the individual
circumstances of the place, and the occasion, in
which it is made ; and the adaptation is often
ingenious. The thickness of the main supports of
the web is made proportional to their length. Their
anchorage to the fixed point to which they are
attached, may be single or multiple. When the wind is
so high as to endanger the structure, a spider has been
known to hang a pebble to the lower edge of its web,
to afford a yielding support and tightener. Again,
the operation by which the spirals are affixed to the
spokes is fixed and invariable, and never undergoes
alteration ; but the operation by which the main
supports of the web are attached, is subject to much
variation. The spider may float the web in the
air, and allow the wind to carry it across the inter-
vening space ; or she may run round with it, giving out
thread as she goes, from one point of support to the
other ; or she may drop from one point of support,
and, suspended at the end of a thread, allow herself
to be swung by the wind, until she reaches the other
point of support. The method she adopts is

20 CONDUCT BOOK I

determined by the circumstances in which she is. In
still air she does not depend on the wind to carry
her. The precise position of the web, the number of
the prime supports, the precise shape of the poly-
gonal area that they include, the objects to which
they shall be attached, the mode of reaching these
objects, the method of anchoring the supports thereto,
all these are variable. They are not the same for
any two webs. They are specially adapted to the
specific circumstances in which the web is built.
They are determined by the choice of the spider on
the particular occasion : and choice is the distinguish-
ing mark of reason. In these respects, therefore, the
action of the spider, in spinning its web, is not
instinctive. It has none of the marks of instinct.
It is reasoned. Thus we find that, if instinctive
action is that which is invariable, determinate, pre-
dictable, unmodified by external circumstances, the
same in every individual of the species, the product of
rigid organisation acting under fixed conditions ; and if
reasoned action is variable, indeterminate, unpredict-
able, the product of choice in adaptation to circum-
stances ; then, into an act so thoroughly and typically
instinctive as the web-spinning of the spider, an
element of reason enters. Part of this instinctive act
is reasoned.

Although the structure of the comb of the hive-
bee is determinate in the respects enumerated, yet it
is not completely determinate. In some respects it is
variable, and is modified in adaptation to circum-
stances. Sometimes, to fill up a corner, or to avoid
a projection, the sheet of comb is not flat, but is

CHAP. II ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE 21

curved ; and in that case, the cells are not parallel-
sided, but frustrums of pyramids, those on the convex
side having mouths larger than their bases, and
those on the concave side having bases larger than
their mouths. When a comb is in danger of dragging
away from its supports, or if it has actually fallen,
buttresses are built to sustain it, and in these
buttresses, the shape of the cells, while generally
conforming with the shape of the type, is yet
modified, and subordinated to the object to be
served. The cells of drone-comb are larger than the
cells of ordinary comb, and where the two adjoin,
the intermediate cells are modified in shape to suit
the circumstance. A bee will sometimes pull down
and rebuild a piece of work, it may be more than
once, until the work is to her satisfaction ; and one
bee will pull down the work of others, and reconstruct
it in better form. In all these cases, the instinctive
action is modified to suit the exigencies of particular
circumstances ; and such modification is guided by
choice of one out of several alternatives ; is
determined, not by the unalterable action of the
internal factor, but by the requirements of the
external factor ; and is therefore not instinctive, but
reasoned.

It is the same, mutatis mutandis, with the nest-
building of birds. The rook always builds, of live
twigs, a loosely constructed nest at the top of a tall
tree. In these respects its action is fixed, deter-
mined, predictable, unmodifiable, instinctive. But
which particular tree, and which branch of the tree,
shall bear the nest, — these are not predetermined.

22 CONDUCT

These are not the same for every individual of the
species. There is an internal compulsion in the rook
to build a nest, and to build it of live twigs, at the
top of a tall tree ; but there is no internal compulsion
in the rook to select one tree rather than another, or
one branch rather than another. Were it so, the result
would be disastrous. If every rook built on the same
branch of the same tree, the branch and the tree
would be broken down. Nor is there any internal
compulsion in the rook, to select one twig rather than
another for his purpose. He settles on any tree that
has a likely branch, and proceeds to twist it off ; and
in all the details of nidification — in placing the sticks,
and interlacing them with one another — he is guided
by what has been already done, and by the particular
direction and conformation of the branch which is
his foundation. In these matters his action is
modifiable. It is subject to variation, to choice, to
alteration in adaptation to external conditions. Here
it is the external factor that determines the mode
and direction of his action.

It is the same with other birds. While some
make their nests, like rooks, on tall trees, other species
have other instincts. All the individuals of one
species make their nests in dense parts of thick bushes ;
all those of another in holes in the ground ; all those
of another on inaccessible cliffs ; and so on. But
as to the particular bush, and the particular part of
the bush ; as to the particular cliff, and the particular
part of the cliff, in which the nest shall be made,
these are not predetermined. One bush is more
suitable from its greater density ; another has a

OHAP. 11 ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE 23

branch more suitably shaped ; which of the two shall
be the locality of the nest, is a matter for the
decision and deliberate choice of the nesting bird. It
is not predetermined. It is uncertain. It varies.
It is a matter of choice. So in the matter of
materials. The rook builds its nest of live twigs, the
thrush of fibrous roots and stems, the chaffinch of
moss and lichen ; but what particular twig, or fibre,
or bit of moss, shall be used, is not predetermined.
It is a matter of selection — of choice, — and choice is
reason. Some trees, limes for instance, are preferred
by the rook, but he is not restricted to limes ; nor,
where there are several limes, is he restricted to
any one ; and the choice of suitable twigs on any one
tree is almost limitless. Yet on each visit he chooses
one. He does not always choose the same. He does
not necessarily take the nearest, or the easiest to
break. His action varies according to circumstances.
It is determined by external conditions. That is to
say, while the act of nest-building is determined, in
its main features, by internal organisation, and is in
this respect instinctive ; it is subject, in its details, to
the operation of choice in adaptation to circumstances,
and is, in this respect, reasoned.

It would be easy to extend indefinitely this brief
review of instinctive action, and to show that, how-
ever rigidly invariable the main features of the
instinctive action may be, there is always a margin
that is modified by reason in adaptation to circum-
stances. Enough has been said, I think, to show
that no act is wholly instinctive. Into every
instinctive act there is an intrusion of reasoned

24 CONDUCT

action. However paramount may be the action of
the fixed organisation of the actor, it is never
sufficiently complete, at any rate in the higher
animals, to cover the whole field, and account for
the whole of the action. However dominant the
action of the fixed organisation may be, there is
always a margin to which it does not extend, in
which choice is free : in which action is no longer
determinate, but is modifiable in adaptation to
circumstances ; and such modifiability is the mark
of reasoned action.

I do not deny that in animals whose conduct is of
primitive simplicity, such conduct may be wholly
instinctive. The conduct of a fixed bivalve, for
instance, is almost limited to the opening and closing
of its shell ; and the latter operation takes place, no
doubt, reflexly, in response to stimulus ; but it is
not impossible that some choice is exercised by the
animal in the time of opening. My position is not
in the least invalidated, however, if there are actions
wholly determined by the organisation of the actor,
and unaOected by any element of choice or reason.
All I contend for is that, in the higher animals at
any rate, and in elaborate instincts, an element of
reason is always present. In them there is no such
thing as a wholly instinctive act. Generally, it
would be correct to say that, while the end is
dictated imperatively by instinct, the means by
which the end is attained are, to a varying extent,
sought by reason ; and this is as true of the action of
mankind, as of that of the animals below mankind.

The conduct of men is usually contrasted with

CHAP. II ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE 25

the conduct of animals, and looked on as wholly
reasoned ; while that of animals is regarded as
wholly instinctive. But on examination, we find
that, as the conduct of animals is not wholly in-
stinctive, but always, at least in its higher mani-
festations, contains some element of reason ; so tlie
conduct of man is not wholly reasoned, but contains
always some element of instinct. In the lower
animals, the internal factor greatly predominates,
and little margin is left for the choice of means to
attain the end that instinct dictates; in man, the
reasoned factor encroaches more and more in dis-
covering means to attain his ends ; but the ends, the
ultimate ends, are always instinctively determined.
In contemplating the conduct of man, we regard
mainly the means by which he achieves his ends,
and when we take account of purposes, we regard
mainly the proximate and intermediate purposes,
which, as well as the immediate means, may be
dictated by reason ; and thus we are apt to regard
the whole conduct of man as reasoned, because we
confine our contemplation to that part which is
reasoned, and neglect those fundamental and under-
lying purposes which are not reasoned, but instinctive.
In truth, and in close examination, it is found that
instinct is no more excluded from the conduct of
man by the prevalence of reason, than reason is
excluded from the conduct of animals by the
dominance of instinct. The difference is one, not of
kind, but of degree. In lower animals, instinct
dictates the end, and not only the end, but to a
considerable extent the means by which the end is

26 CONDUCT

achieved ; and leaves but a margin, larger or smaller,
to the gaidance of reason. In man, instinct dictates
the main ends only, and the reasoned margin is so
greatly increased that it seems to occupy the whole
area ; but it does not. The central area is always
occupied by instinct. The black border of a sheet
of white paper may be a mere line round the edge ;
or it may be a margin so broad that the main area
of the paper is black, and only a small patch of
white is left in the middle ; but the two very
different sheets present merely extreme variations of
the same arrangement.

The business man, examining the plans of his new
premises, adapting them to his new machinery, his
increased staff, the order in which the processes of
manufacture are to be conducted, the reception of
raw material, the packing and delivery of the finished
product, and many other considerations, is performing
a seri-es of highly reasoned acts. But these highly
reasoned acts are but means for the attainment of
an end — the end of acquiring income to supply his
wants. And action for the supply of his wants — to
keep him in house, warmth, clothing, food, comforts,
and even luxuries — is not reasoned action. It is
instinctive. It is certain and predictable that every
normal man will endeavour some action to suj)ply
himself with necessaries, — to support himself and his
family. He is impelled by instinct to act in some
way for the attainment of this end ; but here the
impulse of instinct terminates. Instead of finding,
as in the case of the bee, an elaborate course of action
for the supply of food and shelter, dictated by a

cuAP.n ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE 27

rigid instinct, which, willy nilly, he must follow ;
instinct dictates merely the end that must be
attained, and leaves it entirely to reason to find the
means of attaining it.

The lover who schemes and plots to find oppor-
tunity of meeting his beloved ; who presses into his
service the telegraph, the postal service, the railway,
visits here and letters there, the exigencies of his
business, and the demands of his employer ; is
conducting a series of operations of highly reasoned
character. All these acts are reasoned acts, the
subjects of deliberation and choice, not predetermined,
not predictable, subject to modification from hour to
hour, and from moment to moment, under the
influence of obstructing circumstances. But the
main action, to which these are all subsidiary, the
end for which they are the means, the primary course
of conduct of which they are the details, that is to
say, the seeking the association with a person of
the opposite sex for the purpose of courtship, — that
is not a reasoned act. That is a matter of instinct.
It is certain. It is inevitable. It is determinate.
Instinct demands that some such object of association
shall be sought. Instinct determines, in the main,
the choice of the particular individual ; but when
instinct has done this much, reason is left to fill in
all the details, to find or make opportunities for
that association which instinct imperatively demands.
The internal factor supplies the main direction of
activity, the external factor is left to do the rest.

The man of science who conducts some prolonged
investigation for the solution of a diflScult problem,

28 CONDUCT

say in physics, or biology, immerses himself in
operations of the most highly reasoned character ;
but these highly reasoned operations are means,
merely, to the attainment of some end that is
dictated by an imperious instinct. Is he working
for ultimate pecuniary reward ? The dictation of
instinct is manifest. Does he work for fame ? The
desire for fame is a high development of that desire
for the esteem of his fellows, which is the common
instinctive possession of all men. Does he work for
the pure love of investigation, and to find out the
secrets of nature ? Then he is actuated by the same
instinct of Curiosity that prompts the girl to dis-
articulate her doll ; the boy to rip up the bellows,
and pull his watch to pieces ; that draws the deer
to the decoy, the magpie to the jewel, the salmon to
the torch, the moth to the lamp.

In these instances, which might be multiplied
indefinitely, the instinctive factor in conduct, while
it really dominates the whole, and determines the
ultimate end that shall be pursued, yet leaves so
completely to the guidance of reason the means by
which the end is to be attained, that the reasoned action
absorbs the whole of the attention, and the conduct
of mankind is commonly supposed to be governed by
reason alone. So far does the ultimate instinctive
end recede into the background, and so complicated
and prolonged becomes the reasoned action by which
that end is sought, that in many cases, the ultimate
end of conduct disappears altogether from the view
of the actor, who pursues some intermediate end,
not realising that this intermediate end is but a

CHAP. ,1 ACTION AS INSTINCTIVE 29

stage towards the attainment of the ultimate aim, to
which his instinct impels him. When the business
man is making plans, raising capital, and organising
his arrangements to extend his business, he looks
only to the improvement of the business itself, and
the prospective profit that it will bring him. He is
not directly concerned, he is scarcely conscious of
the fact, that his ultimate motive in all this work
is to secure himself against want, in the coming
time when he will no longer be able to work ; to
educate and clothe his children, and to see them
established in the world, and able to provide for
themselves. When the lover is arranging to meet
his mistress, he thinks only of the pleasure that the
meeting will afford him, and would be outraged to
be told that his ultimate motive is that she may
become the mother of his children. And when the
man of science is poring over his problem, the only
motive that is present to his mind is the interest of
the pursuit, the overcoming of difficulties and the
avoidance of fallacies. He does not stop to consider
the motive at the back of what he is doing.

CHAPTER III

INSTINCT AND REASON

A. The Fossilisation of Reason into Instinct

Dogs that have been under domestication for in-
numerable generations, and that, during innumerable
generations, have been well and regularly fed, still
retain the instinctive habit of burying bones, the
remnants of a generous meal, to serve them on a
future occasion, which, in their domesticated life,
never arises. So obsolete has become the need, that
the habit of exhuming the buried bone is almost
lost ; but still the practice of burying it is continued.
Originally undertaken to serve a further end — to
provide a store of nourishment against future want
— the practice is now pursued for its own sake,
though it no longer serves any end. The burying of
bones is become itself an end. Whenever intelligence
is employed to attain an end, the end is attained,
not immediately, but by successive steps. The dog,
in providing against future want, employs but one
intermediate operation, — that of burying the bone.
But man, in providing against future want, employs
many intermediate operations. He works at this
and at that ; he makes friends to secure influence ;

30

CHAP, in

INSTINCT AND REASON 31

he intrigues ; he speculates ; he travels ; he conducts
his correspondence ; he joins the Freemasons ; he
does a thousand things that have no direct result
in providing for his future, but which he hopes
will serve him indirectly, — doubly, trebly, and re-
motely indirectly. In short, he proceeds towards an
ultimate instinctive end by successive steps, passing
from one intermediate end ,,to another, often without
recognising that he is proceeding to an ultimate end,
but having the proximate end only in view.

Thus it happens, in very many cases, that the
proximate or intermediate end, undertaken originally
only as a means towards some ultimate end, becomes
an end in itself. The ultimate end is dropped out
of sight, and forgotten ; and the intermediate or
proximate end becomes the ultimate goal. Such
anticipation of motive, as we may call it, is the
burying of bones by the domesticated dog. Once
undertaken as a means to a further end, it is now
become an ultimate end, beyond which the dog does
not go. Many instances of such anticipation of motive
occur in the conduct of mankind, and the consequent
modification of conduct will often be referred to in
subsequent pages. Some of these instances, of what
may be termed the fossilisation of reason into instinct,
we may observe in actual course of making : others
have long become fixed and organised as secondary

"C5

instincts

A sentinel was found, by a high military authority,
pacing up and down before a government building
in Berlin. As sentries are not usually posted before
such buildings, the high military authority made

32 CONDUCT

inquiry as to the reason of the exception. No
reason could be given at first ; but on research being
made, it was found that, years before, the railings
had been painted, and a sentry had been posted to
warn passers-by not to brush against the wet paint.
The paint had long been dry ; the railings were now
in condition to need painting again ; but still the
sentinel was posted daily, and tramped up and down
before the building, neither knowing nor caring what
he was there for. The ultimate end for which he
was posted there, had long dropped out of sight,
and had ceased to exist ; buti the posting of a sentry
on that spot was become an end in itself, to be attained
without reference to any ulterior end. We see the
same thing in the carrying out of many laws. A
law is instituted to prevent a certain abuse. The
abuse ceases, but still the provisions of the law are
pedantically administered. They are become ends
to be followed for their own sake, regardless of the
fact that the circumstances to which they were
adapted have ceased to exist, or that the administra-
tion of the law may actually produce the very evils
it was intended to prevent. The old poor-law,
passed to relieve destitution, was continued in
operation for many long years after it produced
much more destitution than it relieved.

Before the days of maps and plans, the boundaries
of parishes were kept in mind by an annual per-
ambulation by the parish authorities and the children,
into whom it was important that the knowledge
should be instilled ; and certain impressive ceremonies,
such as beating the children, or bumping their elders.

cHAi. in INSTINCT AND REASON 33

were practised at importaDt spots, in order to impress
the sufferers with a more lasting remembrance of the
boundary. The construction of accurate maps and
plans has long provided better, and more lasting,
and more available evidence of the course of the
boundaries ; but in the meantime the practice of
' beating the bounds ' has become an end to be
followed for its own sake, regardless of the further
end for which it was instituted.

Among the subsidiary instincts is that of accumu-
lation. Originated in the practice of accumulating,
in times of plenty, a store of food that should serve
for sustenance in times of scarcity, its obvious
advantages soon caused the transfer of the desire
and the practice to other things than food ; until, in
the course of ages, it culminated in the practice of
accumulating money, the symbol and potentiality of
acquiring most things that are regarded as desirable.
Having started as a means to the further end of
security against future want, it is now, by the
process of anticipation of motive, become an end in
itself; and we have the familiar spectacle of men
who have already accumulated money in excess of any
possible need, still going on with the accumulation
for the mere sake of accumulating. From food and
money, the practice has overflowed, by an easy
process of transference, to other things, some useful,
many useless, and we now see people accumulating
book-plates, postage stamps, and all kinds of queer
things, merely to satisfy the secondary instinct of
accumulation. In the insane, we see a grotesque
manifestation of the same instinct in the collection

D

34 CONDUCT book i

of matchboxes, pebbles, bits of string, rags, paper,
and so forth.

In such a case as the foregoing, the manifestation
of the subsidiary instinct, the transformation of what
was once a means into an end, is clear and obvious ;
but there are many other examples of the same
process going on around us, whose nature we do not,
perhaps, recognise : and many customs, otherwise
inexplicable, are due to this anticipation of motive.

In an age when the only means of ascertaining
the hour with any approach to accuracy, was by
consulting the sun-dial on the parish church, it was
manifestly desirable that some signal, audible to
parishioners scattered over a wide area, should be
given, to indicate the time at which the public
services of the church would begin. For this purpose,
a bell was hung in a lofty tower, from which its
reverberations would travel to a greater distance.
This custom of ringing the church bell, originated as
a means to the further end of signifying to the
parishioners the hour of service, is followed at the
present day, when every labourer possesses a clock,
and every middle-class householder half a dozen ; and
when meetings by the score are held in every parish
at a pre-arranged hour, which are punctually attended
by people who receive no tintinnabular summons.
The ringing of the bell has ceased to be a means to
a further end, and is become, by anticipation of
motive, an end to l)e followed for its own sake. The
ringing of the bell is at length regarded almost as a
portion of the service, the omission of which would
be disrespectful to the Almighty.

cH^p. Ill INSTINCT AND REASON 35

A whimsical instance of the same tendency is seen
in the tenacity with which the teaching of Latin is
adhered to in our public schools. At one time the
common and only medium of communication among
educated men of all nations ; the language in which
all books were written, all legal documents engrossed,
all diplomatic correspondence conducted, all Uni-
versity lectures delivered ; its acquisition was, of
necessity, the first step in a liberal education. It
was taught, not in the least as an end in itself, but
as a means to further and more distant ends. With
the lapse of time, other and more direct means of
attaining these ends came into use, and the value of
Latin as a means in education disappeared. But, in
the meantime, the teaching of Latin, as a first step
in education, had become habitual. From an inter-
mediate, it had become an ultimate end. That it
had had a purpose was forgotten, and it was, and
still is, pursued, as if it were in itself an end worthy
of attainment ; and, as this strange position demands
justification, all kinds of reasons are alleged by its
advocates for its retention in the curriculum, reasons
which had nothing to do with its establishment,
which are after-thoughts, and are enlisted to account
otherwise for what is really an extension of instinct
into the domain of reason.

For it will have been observed that what is here
called the anticipation of motive, or the erection into
an ultimate end, of what was at first but a proximate
end, and a means to some further end, is a change
from a more reasoning to a more instinctive course
of conduct. It is an extension of the direction of

36 CONDUCT book i

conduct by the internal factor, and a limitation of
/ its direction by the external factor. The charac-
teristic of reasoned action is its indeterminate,
varying nature, its modifi ability in adaptation to
circumstances; while the characteristic of instinc-
V tive action is its unyielding rigidity, its predict-
able certainty. It is clear that an act, that is
performed in adaptation to circumstances that no
longer exist, has ceased to be a reasoned act. Reason
would modify the action into adaptation with the
altered circumstances. The rigid invariability, which
ensures the continuance of an action after the
circumstances that it was framed to meet have
ceased to exist, is instinctive ; and remains instinctive,
whether the act is that of burying bones in anticipa-
tion of a need that will never arise ; or that of ringing
a bell whose summons is neither needed nor regarded ;
or that of teaching a language whose use is ended
and well-nigh forgotten.

B. The Liquidation of Instinct into Reason

So far, we have ascertained that conduct is
a mixture, in variable proportions, of instinctive
action with reasoned action ; that every course of
conduct is demanded by instinct and moulded by
reason ; that instinct dictates imperiously the ends,
which reason seeks to compass ; and that there is a
strong tendency for action, that was in the first place
reasoned, to lose its reasoned character, and fossilise
into instinct. It is manifest that if this tendency
were not counterbalanced by an opposing tendency,

CHAP. Ill INSTINCT AND REASON 37

the action, both of animals and of men, would
become increasingly instinctive, and their conduct
would at length crystallise into instinctive action,
with a minimum of modifiability by reason. But
this is not the case. The conduct of many animals,
and of most communities of mankind, is in the
opposite direction, and tends, as a whole, and with
many an alternation and reflux, to become increasingly
reasoned, and decreasingly instinctive, in its methods.
There must, therefore, be some tendency opposed to,
and somewhat stronger than that we have considered
— a tendency to the breaking down of the fixed,
determinate, invariable quality of action, that is
characteristic of instinct ; a tendency to modify, in
accordance with circumstances, the rigidity of in-
stinctive action ; a tendency to increase the external
factor at the expense of the internal factor, in the
determination of the mode of action.

Such a tendency is not far to seek. We have seen
that in every action, however completely and rigidly
instinctive it may appear to be, there is yet some
margin that is modifiable by reason under the com-
pulsion of altered circumstances. No two spiders'
webs are in exactly the same place ; and therefore
some intelligent choice of points of support must
be made by every spider. No two nests can be in
exactly the same place ; and therefore some in-
telligent choice of locality must be made by every
bird. Not only in the choice of locality for every
nest, and every web, does this infusion of reason
take place, but every act of every animal must occur
under circumstances slightly different from other acts

-iL 4>" i^J C > •JLrs.,

38 CONDUCT book i

of the same animal, and must be modified to some
degree, however slight, in accordance with the
variation in the circumstances in which it is done.
The flies caught in a spider's web, are of different
sizes and different kinds ; they are entangled in
different parts of the web, and by different parts of
their bodies and limbs ; and they need to be dealt
with in different ways. They are dealt with in
different ways. When a spider catches a Tartar, in
the shape of a wasp too big for her, she makes haste
to cut the web, and allow the wasp to escape. No
animal ever twice captures prey, or discovers food,
of precisely the same character under precisely the
same conditions. Every animal must deal with
continually varying circumstances, though the varia-
tions are sometimes greater, and sometimes less.
Often the variation may be extremely small, so that
the modification of action, that the variation renders
necessary, is almost neglectable ; but some modification
there must be, except in the simplest actions of the
simplest animals, leading the simplest lives in the
most uniform circumstances. The more closely the
present circumstances reproduce those which are
customary, and to which action is become adjusted,
the less need for the importation of novel action.
Customary action, which may or may not be in-
stinctive, but which is at any rate customary, will
be successful ; and if the customary action is also
instinctive, the action will be repeated with a
minimum of reasoned modification. When the
circumstances are novel, the adjustment of action to
them must fail, unless the action undergoes reasoned

CHAP. HI INSTINCT AND REASON 89

modification in adaptation to them ; and whether it
will be so modified, depends on two factors — the
degree of novelty of the circumstances, and the
degree of adaptability, that is of reason, of the actor.
When circumstances are difterent from those that are
customary, adaptation must fail unless intelligence is
correspondingly developed. Widely diff"erent circum-
stances need a high degree of intelligence ; slightly
different circumstances may be met with but little
aid from reason. But whether the difference in
circumstances is great or small, adaptation to them
will fail, unless reason is correspondingly developed.
If a cat, for instance, is let loose upon an island that
contains no birds or small mammals, the cat will
starve, unless it adapts itself to these new circum-
stances by learning to catch fish, or to live on insects,
or molluscs, or other food. Since every animal must,
of necessity, be constantly importing into its action
some minimum of intelligence, to deal with those
slight modifications of circumstances that arise from
diff*erences of locality, season, weather, and so forth ;
it will have little difficulty in adapting its action —
it will already be in possession of enough reason to
adapt its action — to those modifications of circum-
stances that differ but little from the customary.
Owing to the constitution of the nervous system,
and of mind, each such exertion of intelligence will
increase the general ability of the animal to deal with
other novelties in circumstances, providing only that
the novelty is not too great. Hence, the condition
for an increase of intelligence, is a variation in
circumstances, greater, but not much greater, than

40 CONDUCT

customary variation ; or, more accurately, a variation
proportional to the degree of intelligence existing.

An animal of low intelligence, that is to say,
incapable of making wide departures from instinctive
action to deal with novel circumstances, is easily
caught by a simple trap ; and such animals continue
to be caught in traps of the same kind, in spite of
any amount of experience in witnessing the capture
of their relatives. However simple a mole trap,
moles never learn to avoid it. Relatively to their
adaptability, the difference of the circumstances from
those to which they instinctively adjust themselves,
is too great to permit them to bridge the interval by
a modification of action. But animals that are ac-
customed to originate new adaptations to circum-
stances, soon learn to avoid simple traps ; and every
increase in the novelty of the trap is met by a new
adaptation of action to avoid it. Any new trap will
catch a rat or two, but the rats soon learn to adapt
themselves to the new circumstances ; and, to catch
many rats, the traps must be changed ; or a trap
must be devised so difi'erent from what is customary
to rats, that the interval cannot be bridged by their
adaptability.

The circumstances of all animals vary more or
less ; and consonantly, their action, in dealing with
circumstances, is more or less reasoned or intelligent.
The liquidation of instinctive action into intelligent
action, which we term the increase in the intelligence
of the animal, depends on the gradual increase in
novelty in their circumstances. If the amount of
variation in circumstance remains uniform, the un-

CHAP, in INSTINCT AND REASON 41

changing variability is inimical to increase of intel-
ligence. If the amount of variation in circumstances,
to which they must adapt themselves, diminishes, the
grade of intelligence will be apt to deteriorate ; as we
see in domestic cattle and sheep. The circumstances
of cattle and sheep in domestication, present much
wider variations than the circumstances of the same
animals in a state of nature. They are distributed,
by the agency of man, over every variety of climate ;
they are fed with the food of the most diverse nature ;
they are housed and treated in many different ways ;
but to these different conditions they do not need to
make adaptations. Everything is done for them.
Their circumstances, diverse as they are, are arti-
ficially adapted to them ; and they are but passive
in the matter — much more passive than in a state of
nature ; — and consequently, their intelligence, in spite
of varied circumstances, does not increase, but on the
contrary, diminishes.

If the variation of the circumstances is very great,
and sudden, or rapid, out of proportion to the ability
of the animal to respond by new adaptation, no
adaptation will be made ; and, if the circumstances
thus changing are vital, the animal must perish ; as
happens when a trap is beyond its comprehension.
Such extreme variations seem, in certain cases, to
paralyse the energies of the animal completely ; and
this paralysis may, in some cases, be its salvation,
as in those cases in which attack by a foe of over-
whelming strength is followed by a simulated death,
which may be preservative. It seems probable that
by such paralysis of the energies may be explained

42 CONDUCT

the dwindling and extinction of certain savage races,
when brought into contact with the infinite com-
plexity of modern civilisation. Short of this de-
structive effect, however, it seems that the wider the
variation that is introduced into circumstances, the
more favourable are the conditions to increase of
intelligence.

As every novelty, if it be not too great, introduced
into the circumstances of human life, paves the way
for further novelties ; so every new adjustment made
to circumstances, facilitates the making of still more
novel adjustments. The new circumstances demand
and elicit new adjustments to meet them ; and the
formation of the new adjustments increases the flexi-
bility of adaptation, and renders easier the formation
of adjustments still more novel. Since there is no
human life into which some novel circumstances do
not from time to time enter, it is clear that the
conditions of an increase of intelligence are present
in the lives of all ; and, as long as the nervous system
retains plasticity, the intelligence of each individual
will tend to advance.

Thus, two opposing tendencies exist in action ;
and the actual instinctiveness or intelligence of the
conduct of any person, or of any community of
persons, is the resultant. By anticipation of motive,
and the pursuit of means as ends, conduct tends
perpetually to become more fixed, unvarying and
instinctive ; by response to novelty in circumstances,
it tends perpetually to become more flexible, more
adaptable to special and new surroundings. In some
persons the one mode, and in others the other mode,

CHAP. HI INSTINCT AND REASON 43

preponderates. In the same person, conduct will be,
in one department or particular, fossilising into
instinct ; in another department or particular, it will
exhibit increase of intelligence. Like attraction and
radiation in the world of atoms and ions ; like gravita-
tion and centrifugal motion in the solar system ; like
Ormuzd and Ahriman in Eastern legend, the two
opposing forces are omnipresent in human conduct.

The distinctive character of instinctive conduct
is its fixity and determinateness ; of reasoned conduct
its flexibility in adaptation to circumstances ; but
these, though the most salient and fundamental, are
by no means the only differences between the two
modes of action. Other differences of great im-
portance are implied and involved in those that have
been considered, and these other differences must now
be explained.

CHAPTER IV

IV. ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT OR SELF-
RESTRAINED

The more purely instinctive an act remains, the
more immediately and directly does it serve its
purpose ; and the introduction or extension of the
reasoned element in the action, necessarily postpones
the attainment of the end. When the spider is seek-
ing an appropriate position for its web, and determin-
ing on the best points of support ; when the bird
is seeking an appropriate position for its nest, and
weighing the comparative advantages of concealment,
security, and ease of construction ; the building of
the structure is, in each case, suspended, postponed,
and delayed, by as much time as is consumed in the
search and the choice. The end in view, however, —
the construction of a secure web in a position adapted
to the capture of flies ; the construction of a secure
nest in a place concealed from enemies, or inaccessible
to them, — is so much more successfully attained, as
to compensate for the delay in its attainment. When
a hive of bees sets about to modify the disposition
of its comb, by making passages here, and building
buttresses there, the time thus occupied is taken from

44

CHA. IV ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 45

that which is devoted to the collection and storage
of food, that the young may be reared, and the colony
maintained through the winter ; but, while the attain-
ment of the end in view — the intermediate end of
storing food — is thus suspended, postponed, and
delayed, the ultimate ends are more completely
attained by the easier access to stores, and by the
security of the comb from fracture and waste of its
contents. When a colony of beavers excavates a canal
for the transport of the logs, on the bark of which
they feed, the collection of the logs is suspended,
postponed, and delayed ; but the end in view, — the
collection of the logs, is greatly facilitated.

This power of suspending and postponing the
immediate and direct pursuit of an end — this post-
ponement of motive, as we may call it — becomes, in
the higher manifestations of conduct, one of its most
distinctive characters. It is the mark of reasoned
action to forego the immediate gratification of a
desire, for the sake of obtaining a greater future
advantage. This ability to suspend and postpone the
direct pursuit of instinctive ends, and to interpose
action which delays this gratification, while it secures
for the actor greater advantages, lies at the root of
all progress, all civilisation, and all morality.

It has been said that the man who first contented \
himself with abusing his adversary, instead of assault- /
ing him, took the first step in civilisation ; and the I
saying exhibits appreciation of the principle under
discussion. If a man gives up years of his life to
the acquirement of some difficult trade or profession,
it is because the deferred reward that he will thus

46 CONDUCT

obtain, will be so much greater than that of an
occupation that is immediately remunerative. If he
invests his gains, he foregoes the instant pleasure of
spending, for the future gratification of a fixed in-
come. If he insures his life, he foregoes the same
pleasure for the advantage of his family, as well as
for his own contentment. The substitution of court-
ship for rapine ; the postponement of marriage for
reasons of prudence ; the continual advance in the
average age of marriage ; alike bear witness to the
same principle.

The first result of the importation of reason into
instinctive action is, then, this suspension of the
immediate or direct pursuit of the end. It imports
a power of suspending, checking, controlling, restrain-
ing, or inhibiting instinctive action. This power of
inhibition is inseparable from the exercise of reason.
It is an integral part of reasoned action ; and the
more of reasoning employed, the more and more of
inhibition is involved in the action.

Eeason means, first of all, choice. It implies a
selection between alternatives ; and however rapidly
the choice may be made, there is always some
interval of time occupied in making the selection.
The instinctive impulsion to take action directly
conducing to the end in view, is overcome by the
power of voluntary suspension, until the course that
seems most appropriate to secure the end, is decided
upon. For the time being, action is arrested ; and
this arrest or suspension of action, is one of the most
striking characters of reason. This power of sus-
pending, or arresting, or inhibiting action, once

CHAP. IV ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 47

initiated by the necessity of taking time to allow
of the operation of choice, becomes, bit by bit,
detachable from the operation of choice ; so that,
at length, the power is acquired of arresting or sus-
pending action, irrespective of immediate choice.
The action is arrested ; and not merely is the attain-
ment of the end thereby postponed, but the choice
itself may be postponed, and the end itself may
be postponed indefinitely, or altogether abandoned.
Thus arises the power of self-restraint or self-control,
as it is called ; a power which, first exercised in the
most pronounced forms of instinctive action, gradually
attains a larger and larger sway, until at length it
prevails even over those trifling movements of facial
expression, which are the inseparable accompaniments
of emotion, and are the most difficult acts of all to
control.

In a previous section it has been shown how
motives become anticipated, and that which was
once a means to a further end comes to be pursued
as an end in itself. This is true in greater or less
degree of all means ; and is true of the mode of
action that we are now considering. Self-restraint
and self-control are cultivated as ends in themselves ;
the arrest and suspension of the pursuit of ends is
exaggerated into the abandonment of these ends ;
and thus arises the practice of asceticism, in all its
degrees and in all its forms. Asceticism is primarily
the renunciation of pleasure ; that is to say, the
renunciation of instinctive gratifications. It is the
inhibition or arrest of the action by which pleasure
is pursued ; and becomes possible only by the power

48 CONDUCT

of self-restraint, which enters into action as reason
is applied to the modification of instinct. Self-denial
and self-restraint, as ends in themselves, are no more
desirable than burying bones, or ringing church bells,
or learning Latin. They are of value only for the
ends that can be achieved by means of them, and as
they facilitate the attainment of ends. But, since
they are the common condition of the better and
more complete attainment of all ends, of every
description, their acquirement and cultivation, apart
from their application to any particular end, are of
great value and importance ; and the practice of
self-denial and self-restraint, in and for themselves,
and apart from their application to any particular
end, is the practice of asceticism. Any quality that
is cultivated for itself alone, is liable to be cultivated
to excess. As soon as it becomes an end to be pur-
sued for its own sake, its utility as a means to further
ends is ipso facto forgotten and lost sight of, and it
may then be pui'sued to an extent that actually
militates against the attainment of these further ends.
Self-denial and self-control are valuable only as they
enable us to attain, more completely than we could
without them, the gratification of instinctive ends.
But, in the cultivation of self-denial and self-control,
this value is altogether ignored, and they are culti-
vated, often, to the extent of delaying or rendering
impossible, the very ends that their purpose is to
serve. Nay, they are cultivated to the point of
renouncing and repudiating these very ends them-
selves. Mere rapine, by the cultivation of self-
control, becomes mitigated into courtship ; the

cHA,. IV ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 49

further cultivation, in excess, of self-control, secures
the abolition of courtship, and of the end that
courtship is intended to serve ; and results in celibacy.
The gluttonous orgy of the savage becomes, by the
cultivation of self-control, the decorous and orderly
meal of the cultivated man ; but the cultivation, for
its own sake, of self-denial, leads to fasting, which
may become as great a danger to health as gluttony.
The instant indulgence in riotous expenditure, that
we call prodigality, is restrained by the cultivation
of self-denial, and replaced by thrift. By the further
pursuit of self-denial for its own sake, and without
regard to the end to be attained by its means, thrift
is exaggerated into miserliness.

Self-control is the voluntary renunciation of im-
mediate gratification, for the sake of greater sub-
sequent gratification. Self-denial is the voluntary
renunciation of gratification for its own sake, as an
end, and without regard to any future gratification
to be gained thereby. From the voluntary renuncia-
tion of pleasure to the voluntary enduring of pain, is
but a short step ; it is, in fact, a matter merely of
degree, or even of nomenclature ; and the voluntary
enduring of pain, or the self-infliction of pain, is
asceticism. At one end of the long chain is the
momentary suspension of the pursuit of gratification,
in order that choice may be made of the most eff'ectual
mode of attaining it ; in the middle is the dour
indifference to sensual pleasure of the Puritan ; at
the extreme end are the self-tortures and self-
mutilations of the Eastern devotee, w^ho suspends
himself by a hook passed through the muscles of

E

50 CONDUCT

BOOK I

his back, gazes open-eyed at the sun from the rising
up of the same until the going down thereof, or
takes his repose in a barrel set with spikes.

V. ACTION AS IMPULSIVE OR DELIBERATE

Action that seeks instant and direct attainment
of an end, is impulsive action, and partakes of the
nature of instinct, with little or no modification by
reason. Action that is delayed, in order that the
most advantageous method of attaining the end may
be found, or in order that the proximate end itself
may be weighed, and adjudged to be expedient or
inexpedient, is deliberate action. By common con-
sent, impulsive action is regarded as in some respect
inferior to deliberate action. It is lower in grade.
It is marked by inferiority. The impulsive act need
not, of necessity, be less moral than the deliberate
act. The impulse may be to do a generous or a
charitable act. But it is, by its very impulsiveness,
less of a reasoned act. It is done without a weighing
of advantage and disadvantage. It is more or less
predetermined in character. When a man is struck
by another, his natural impulse is to hit back. That
is the instinctive retaliation upon the assault. The
intervention of reason would lead to consideration of
whether the blow was malicious or playful ; whether
it was intended for the person assaulted or for some
one else ; of the size and strength of the assailant ;
of whether he is backed and reinforced by others — in
short, of the odds — and various other considerations.
The passage of these thoughts through the mind

CHAP. IV ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 51

takes time, aud the estimation of them is called
deliberation. Hence a deliberate act is one done
after the lapse of time, as distinguished from
an impulsive act, which is performed instantly.
This is not, however, the true differentia between
impulse and deliberation. An act determined on
to-day, and done to-morrow or next week, may still
be impulsive ; an act done on the spur of the moment
may still be deliberate. The deferred act is impulsive
if it is determined on without deliberation ; without
weighing of the advantages and disadvantages ;
without contemplation of its remoter results ; and,
if so determined on, it remains impulsive, however
great the lapse of time between the determination
and the execution. On the other hand, deliberation
may be extremely rapid. One of the most striking
differences in the characters of different persons, is
the speed with which their deliberations are con-
ducted, and with which they are able to decide on
the expediency or inexpediency of a contemplated
act. Some are by nature persons of rapid decision,
others are by nature slow to decide ; but whether
performed rapidly or slowly, deliberation, if it pre-
cedes the execution of an act, deprives the act of the
character of impulsiveness ; and, if deliberation
do not precede the act, then it is impulsive, no
matter what length of time has elapsed between the
determination and the execution.

Excuse is sometimes made for criminal and other
wrongful acts, on the ground that they are the result
of ' irresistible impulse.' When the word ' impulse'
is thus used, it seems to carry a meaning different

52 CONDUCT

from that defined above, and more consonant with
' involuntary,' as considered below. When an act is
spoken of as impulsive, all that is carried by the
word impulsive, and all that, in my opinion, ought
to be carried by it, is that the act was not preceded
by deliberation. Whether the urgency of the craving
to execute the act was, or was not, resistible by the
actor, is an important consideration ; but it is not
properly indicated by calling the act one of resistible
or irresistible impulse. All voluntary acts are due to
motives of desire or aversion ; and a desire or an
aversion may be so urgent as to carry all before it,
and to issue in an act, that may or may not be
impulsive or deliberate, but that the actor may find
it difiicult — perhaps impossible — to inhibit ; but the
act so done need not, of necessity, be impulsive. It
may be deliberate in a high degree. It may be the
result of the most careful and elaborate premedita-
tion, and adaptation of means to the end in view.
W^e are here introduced to another meaning of the
word deliberation. In its proper sense, as opposed to
impulsion, it means the weighing of advantage and
disadvantage. But it may be used to mean care in
devising. A carefully devised act is said to be a
deliberate act, although it may be impulsive in the
sense that its advantages and disadvantages have
not been duly weighed. The deliberation has been
exercised, not upon the end to be attained by the act,
but on the means by which the end is to be attained :
and thus the act may be impulsive in the one aspect,
and deliberate in the other.

ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 53

VI. ACTION AS VOLUNTARY OR INVOLUNTARY

It seems at first sight rather a misnomer to speak
of an act as involuntary. An act of the whole
organism, directed to an end, seems to carry with it
the implication of being directed by the will ; but in
fact, there is a class of acts, properly so-called, in that
they are more than movements, being directed to the
attainment of ends, that yet are not only executed
without the concurrence of the will, but insist on
their own execution in spite of the utmost efforts of
the will to inhibit and prevent them. Coughing is
clearly an act, in the sense that it is a co-ordinated
system of movement, directed to the end of clearing
away obstruction from the air passages ; yet, though
it may be voluntarily performed, and may, when not
very urgent, be voluntarily inhibited, it is often
completely involuntary. It is often executed without
the initiation, without the concurrence, of the will ;
and in spite of the most strenuous exertion of the
will to prevent it. Sneezing is another such act,
even more involuntary than coughing, for coughing
can be performed voluntarily, but sneezing cannot.
Vomiting is another such act. Parturition is another.
Parturition is not ordinarily thought of as an act, so
completely involuntary is it in all its stages ; yet, if
coughing and sneezing are acts, which I think every
one would admit, parturition also must be considered
an act. It is a co-ordinated act of many movements,
directed towards the attainment of an end ; and,
although it is very largely involuntary, yet, like

54 CONDUCT

coughiDg and sneezing, it can be reinforced by
voluntary effort.

Urination and defaecation must be regarded as
semi- voluntary acts. They are not wholly under the
control of the will. They cannot be performed at
any moment by purely voluntary effort ; but they
can be inhibited. Their performance can be pre-
vented by voluntary effort, and, when they are
performed, their performance is brought about by the
removal of inhibition. Normally, this inhibition is
maintained, not only involuntarily, but uncon-
sciously ; but there are many morbid conditions in
which the inhibition fails, and the urine and faeces
are discharged, apparently without any voluntary
removal of inhibition, but by the mere failure of the
inhibition to maintain itself. Such discharges are
involuntary acts.

All the acts hitherto instanced as involuntary, are
intermediate between conduct and physiological pro-
cesses ; but there are acts that belong strictly to the
domain of conduct, and yet are partly or wholly in-
voluntary. When the body is falling forwards, the
arms are thrust forwards ; and this act is not only
involuntary, but cannot be prevented by the strongest
exertion of the will. The fall may be into water, or
into a feather bed, so that, even if not shielded by the
projection of the arms, no injury would result ; but
for all that, we cannot help projecting the arms.
When the body is falling backwards, the arms are
thrown up ; and similarly, the action is not only in-
voluntary, but cannot be voluntarily inhibited. A
sudden loud noise is apt to produce a start of the

cHAi. .V ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 55

whole body, which is similarly involuntary ; a sudden
and unexpected prick or burn of a limb, produces an
involuntary snatch of the limb ; and other instances
will occur to the reader.

There is, however, another very large class of acts
that are involuntary in a different sense.

VII. ACTION AS NOVEL, HABITUAL, OR AUTOMATIC

An act is novel when it is done for the first time
by the actor ; and the degree of novelty is marked by
the extent to which it differs from the previous acts
of that actor. Thus, in speaking of an act as novel,
we are not now considering its novelty with respect
to acts at large, or acts done by members of the
human race, but solely with respect to the acts of the
particular actor contemplated. So regarded, an act
that is widely different from all previous acts, may be
spontaneous or elicited ; it may be instinctive or
reasoned ; it may be impulsive or deliberate ; crude
or elaborate ; work or play. Whatever its other
characters may be, a novel act is, cceteris paribus,
less nicely adapted to the end in view, than an act
that is not novel. A novel act is, according to its
degree of novelty, as above defined, inferior in applic-
ability to its purpose, to an act that is not novel. It
is also less economical of effort. It needs more
exertion, both mental and bodily, in proportion to
the result, than an established act. It is, as a rule,
slower, less facile, and less successful. The first
efforts of the chick, or the newborn colt or calf, to
stand or walk, are made with manifest effort. They

56 CONDUCT

are uncertain, they include sprawlings, and un-
necessary movements. They are not very successful.
The animal is apt to sway about and fall. Nor is it
only the first essays at instinctive movement that
are thus characterised. The same peculiarities are
observed in reasoned acts. The child learning to
write, performs the action slowly and laboriously,
with much exertion, with unnecessary movements of
its mouth and tongue ; and when all is done, the
writing is not as good as that of the practised pen-
man. So the novice at skating sprawls and falls
about. He uses his arms as much as his les^s ; he
goes through far more exertion than the practised
skater, and the result is much less successful. He
does not cover anything like the same ground in the
same time ; nor can he execute the intricate figures
achievable by the other. So with him who is
learning the bicycle, the typewriter, the musical
instrument, or any other exercise needing com-
plicated action. The first eff"orts are awkward ; they
include many unnecessary movements ; they include
many wrong movements ; they are slow ; they are
attended by much voluntary eftbrt ; and the result is
inferior in accuracy to that achieved by the expert.

As the action is repeated, it loses these characters
with the frequency of repetition. The more often it
is repeated, the more facile it becomes ; the less of
extraneous and unnecessary movement enters into it ;
the more rapidly and accurately it is performed ; the
fewer the failures ; and the better the result. When
an act has been repeated sufliciently often, it merges
from the habitual into the automatic, and the dis-

CHAP. IV ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 57

tinction is marked, not so much by the greater facility
and accuracy of the automatic movement, as by the
degree to which it becomes independent of the
exertion of the will for its continuance. As a rule,
it needs an exertion of will for its initiation, but
once started, the movements continue mechanically,
and any intrusion of volition into their performance
rather hinders and impairs, than increases their
efficacy. When we start for a walk, we do so by an
exertion of will ; but once the action is initiated, we
do not attend to the movements of our legs ; and
any attempt to regulate tlie length of the stride, or
the position of the feet, by an exertion of the will, is
an embarrassment, and a hindrance to the facile per-
formance of the act. It is the same in any action
that is become automatic by long continuance.
AVhether it is playing a musical instrument, or bicy-
cling, or typewriting, or skating, or any other com-
plicated movement that has once been so thoroughly
acquired as to be automatic, volition is needed for its
initiation only ; and when once it is started, any
further intervention of the will impairs the speed and
accuracy of the performance. In this respect, an
automatic act is involuntary ; that is to say, the
several movements of which it is composed are
involuntary, in the sense of not being actuated by
separate exertions of the will ; though the whole
action is voluntary, in the respect that it is initiated,
continued, and terminated, by voluntary exertion.
Nevertheless, if the attention is distracted, and the
will falls into abeyance, the movement may continue
without any very active exertion of will, perhaps

58 CONDUCT

without any at all. The mechaDism, once set in
action, continues to act, as a clock continues to go,
without any further interference from outside. To
alter or to arrest it, requires exertion of will ; but to
continue it, needs little or none. Hence, such actions
may proceed in the abeyance or absence of conscious-
ness. In the unconscious state of post -epileptic
automatism, elaborate acts of the automatic class are
done, without, as far as can be ascertained, any con-
sciousness at all on the part of the actor.

The similarity between automatic action and
instinctive action will not have escaped the notice
of the reader. Action that is thoroughly automatic,
is determinate. When a person has learnt a verse of
poetry so thoroughly that its utterance is become
automatic, its utterance is determinate, and, once
begun, will not vary from time to time, but will
always be repeated in the same words. The operations
of undressing and of dressing, when they are become
automatic, are undertaken in the same order, and
performed in the same way. The man who is
accustomed daily to compare his watch with a
standard clock, as he goes to his work, will do so at
last automatically, when he comes to the accustomed
spot ; and will perhaps not know, the moment after,
that he has done so. We can predict that at that
spot he will take his watch out and look at it.
Indeed, some acts, such as walking, may be regarded,
from one point of view, as automatic, from another,
as instinctive ; the fact being that the facile per-
formance of an act is conditioned by the existence of
a nervous mechanism, whose activity actuates the

CHAP. IV ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 59

movements that compose the act ; and the difference
between instinctive action and automatic action is
that, in the former, the mechanism is inherited ready
formed, as the structure of the arm and the eye are
inherited ready formed ; while the mechanism of the
automatic act must be laboriously constructed by the
exertions of the individual, just as the lever and the
lens must be constructed before they can be used.
For this reason, automatic action is never as com-
pletely mechanised as instinctive action. It remains
to the end more modifiable, less certainly predictable,
less rigid, especially in detail. Yet that it does, in
cases, attain a high degree of mechanisation, is seen
in the extreme difficulty that is found in breaking a
person off a bad style of doing a thing. One who has
once thoroughly acquired an erroneous style of per-
formance, can scarcely ever be diseducated, and
re-educated into a good style. The provincial accent
learnt in childhood, clings to the man to extreme old
age, in spite of his efforts to correct it.

The origin of automatic mechanisms has been
described. They are created by use. They are an
instance of the truth that function creates structure.
They are laboriously built up by prolonged practice,
in conformity with the laws of action of the nervous
system. It is clear that, if such mechanisms were
heritable, that which was automatic in the parent \
would be instinctive in the child. It is certain,
however, that a fully organised mechanism, acquired
by prolonged practice in the parent, is not trans-
mitted as a fully formed mechanism to the child.
The English-speaking parent does not transmit to

/

60 CONDUCT

the child the faculty of English speech. He does,
however, transmit to his child a capacity of learning
to speak, either in English or in any other language.
The spider, however, transmits to its offspring more
than the capacity of learning how to make a web.
She transmits the capacity to make a perfect web.
The bee transmits, not merely the capacity of learning
how to gather pollen and honey, and of learning how
to construct comb ; but the capacity to gather pollen
and honey, and to construct comb. Whether the
difference, of transmitting the capacity of doing a
thing, and the transmitting the capacity of learning
how to do it, is merely a difference in the number of
generations through which the capacity has been
transmitted, is a controverted question. Those who
deny the inheritance of ' acquired ' qualities, regard
the two capacities as radically different, and maintain
that the transmission of the one can never merge
into the transmission of the other. On the other
hand, the similarity in nature, and in fundamental
characters, between the instinctive mechanism and
the automatic mechanism, is very great ; and to
require that one shall be formed by one process, and
the other by another and totally different process,
seems to be a violation of Occam's ' razor ' — entia
7ion sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem. More-
over, it is extremely significant that certain instinctive
acts are improvable by education, and thus occupy an
intermediate position between the purely instinctive
act and the purely automatic act. Walking is, in
the caterpillar, a purely instinctive mode of action.
Tt is perfectly performed, the moment the animal

CHAP. IV ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 61

emerges from the egg. Walkiug and running are, iu
the fowl and foal, instinctive acts. I suppose no one
would contest that the mechanisms which actuate
these acts, are almost fully formed at birth in these
animals, and need but a few tentative efforts to act
efficiently. Walking and running are, in the human
being, automatic acts. All that the individual re-
ceives from inheritance, with respect to these acts, is
the capacity of learning them, and learnt they are, by
a long and laborious process. But, although the fowl
and the foal can walk and run very soon after birth,
and with very little practice, they cannot walk or
run immediately after birth, or without any practice
at all. They, too, must have some education in
walking and running, before they are proficient ; not
much education is required, it is true, but some is
required. The human child requires more education
— much more — but the difference, in this respect,
between the human child on the one hand, and the
colt and fowl on the other, is a difference of more
and less, not a difference in kind ; and it is difficult
to believe — it is contrary to the razor of Occam to
believe — that a difference in degree in the result, is
due to a difference in kind of the cause. Moreover,
we must remember, and the fact is very material to
the issue, that the capacity of walking erect on two
legs by man is, as a racial acquirement, a thing of
yesterday in comparison with the capacity of walking
on four by horses, or on two by fowls.

The fowl and the foal need a little education in
the accomplishments of walking and running, but
they do not need much ; and, once acquired, the

62 CONDUCT

accomplishment is not perfected by practice. In this
respect the instinctive act difters from the automatic
act. But the acts of nest-making, and of singing, in
birds, which are types and examples of instinctive
action, are, especially the latter, eminently improvable
by practice and imitation. It is well known that a
bird's second nest is superior to its first. It is well
known that birds are taught by their parents to peck
and to fiy. It is well known that a bird brought up
under a good singer will, cceteris paribus, sing better
than one that has had no such example before it. In
these cases, then, the distinction between the in-
heritance of a capacity to act, and the inheritance
of a capacity to learn how to act, breaks down. It
appears that it is a matter of degree. It appears
that an animal may inherit the capacity to perform
perfectly a certain act, as the spider inherits the
capacity to make a web. Or it may inherit the
capacity to do the act after a very few efforts of
learning,' as the fowl inherits the capacity to walk.
Or it may inherit the capacity to act, but this
capacity needs education by a period of learning, or
of teaching, or of both. Or it may inherit the
capacity to act imperfectly, and this capacity may,
by practice and imitation, be developed into one
of acting perfectly. This kind of inheritance — of
inheritance of such a pure instinct as pecking, or
flying, or singing, in a bird — is exactly on all fours
with the inheritance, by the child, of the capacity
of learning to walk. In its case also, the capacity
to learn is inherited, and is perfected by practice
and imitation. There is, in short, every shade of

CHAP. .V ACTION AS SELF-INDULGENT 63

gradation between the inheritance of capacity to
learn to do an act, and inheritance of capacity to do
the act without learning ; and if the mode of origin
of the actuating mechanism is diflerent in the two
cases, the onus of proving it to be different lies
clearly on those who make the assertion. The proof
that is commonly adduced is that they do not under-
stand how it is that a mechanism can be inherited.
If this is enough to disprove the inheritance of
acquired mechanisms, it is enough to disprove the
existence of gravitation, for we do not understand
how it is that gravitation acts.

CHAPTER V

VIII. ACTION AS ORIGINAL AND IMITATIVE

The difference between original action and novel

action is clear. A novel act is one tliat has never

been done before by the actor, but he may be

familiar with it, in the sense of having often witnessed

its performance by others. An original act is one

that he has neither himself performed, nor witnessed,

nor heard of. It is one that he has thought out for

himself — that he has originated. It need not be

original in the sense that it has never been done

before. It may be habitual, or even automatic, with

other people ; but as far as his own knowledge is

§ concerned, it is one that, previously to the doing,

I was unknown to him. The antithesis of an original

act is not an automatic act, but one that is imitated.

There are, in fact, two origins for novel acts. An

act done now for the first time, by any person, may

be an act of which he has witnessed the performance,

or of which he has heard or read a description, in

which case it is imitated ; or it may be an act that

he has neither witnessed, nor had described to him,

but which is due entirely to his own initiative.

Degree of originality in action is measured by the

64

CHAP. V ACTION AS ORIGINAL 65

extent to which the novel and unimitated action
differs from the previous action of the same actor ;
and it is important to notice that no action that
is not purely imitative, is destitute of all originality.
Even action so highly automatic as walking, contains
some original features ; for in every walk, inclines,
irregularities, and variations of the surface of the
ground are met with, that are not precisely like
any that have been previously encountered ; and
have to be dealt with, by adjustments of the limbs
and body, that are slightly diiferent from all that
have preceded. Obstacles of slightly different kind
and magnitude, and in slightly different relative
positions, must be avoided by movements, the exact
counterpart of which have not previously been
executed, — movements that contain, therefore, some
small element of originality. When, therefore, we
speak of a man as possessing no spark of originality,
we are using the language of hyperbole. Such a man
would be at the mercy of the first combination of
circumstances that he met with ; for no such com-
bination ever repeats with exactness, any previous
combination ; and therefore, without some originality,
his adjustment to such a combination must fail.

Original action is directly antithetic to imitative
action. It is antithetic also to instinctive action.
An instinctive act may be novel, in the sense of being
done by the actor for the first time in his life ; but
it cannot be original, in the sense that he has thought
it out for himself An act, if it is instinctive, and
as far as it is instinctive, is not thought out. It is
not a product of choice or deliberation, as has already

Q6 CONDUCT

been demonstrated. It is determined by the fixed
constitution of the nervous system, and is, strictly
speaking, mechanical, in that it is actuated by a
determinate mechanism. An original act is not
determinate ; it is a reasoned way of meeting special
circumstances by special action, invented and devised
ad hoc by the actor.

Imitative action partakes of the nature of in-
stinctive action. It is very often instinctive, in the
sense that one of the more primitive instincts is that
of imitation. The acquisition of language by young
children is purely imitative : the construction of a
new word to express a new meaning is purely original.
The instinct of imitation is very widespread, very
strong, and very important. Many of the elaborate
instincts of animals, while they are inherited in a
high degree of completion, are yet perfected, and
receive their final touches, from imitation. By
imitation, some birds learn to fly, and to peck, and
most birds attain to greater perfection in nest-
building. By imitation, many birds learn to talk.
By imitation, all young children learn the same
accomplishment. By imitation, the pointer and the
setter perfect then' special qualities ; and by the
same faculty, the artisan learns his trade, and
the child at school to write. Nor is imitation
confined to such simple acts as these. Originality
in one, has always its complement in imitation
in others. The orimnal artist founds a school of

O

imitators ; the original writer, whether his originality
is in the subject that he chooses, or the manner in
which he treats it, soon has his imitators. A new

ACTION AS ORIGINAL 67

fashion in dress, in games, in table decoration, in
the binding of books, in riding a horse, or setting
out a garden, is imitated as soon as it is known.
The imitative instinct is the mainstay of convention :
originality is the main factor in revolt against con-
vention. In the history of every art, it is customary
to point out how each artist is * influenced ' by his
predecessors ; which is a way of saying that he has
imitated them in one respect or another. In such
cases, the imitation is scarcely, or is but little,
instinctive. It is more usually the result of delibera-
tion and choice. Although, therefore, there is an
instinctive imitation, yet imitation is not necessarily
instinctive. There are times and occasions when it
is highly reasoned, as when Pickard imitated the
crank invented by Watt, and as in parody and in
the whole range of intentional mimicry.

The faculty of imitation is often defective, and is
sometimes in excess. There are many occasions on
which imitation cannot be achieved, either at all,
or without much labour, and many unsuccessful
attempts ; as every teacher of handicraft and bodily
exercises knows. The power of accurate imitation
diminishes with advancing years ; and hence people
who learn a language in mature life, rarely or never
attain a perfect pronunciation. It differs much in
different people, and, while a strong tendency to
instinctive imitation is a sign of a mind of low
calibre, some forms of imitation, as for instance the
subtle imitation in high-class parody, of the spirit
as well as of the form of the original, demands
faculties of a high order. Mere instinctive imitation

68 CONDUCT

BOOK I

is seen at its height in monkeys, and in microcephalic
idiots ; whose instant imitation of attitude and
gesture displayed before them, is a very curious
and striking manifestation, and may be regarded as
excess of this mode of action. Reasoned, or quasi-
reasoned, imitation may also be excessive, and must
be so regarded in those persons who are slaves to
fashion in any of its very various manifestations.

IX. ACTION AS CRUDE OR ELABORATE

This is a manifest distinction, which cuts across
many of the others, and does not need much elucida-
tion. A crude act is a simple act, composed of
few movements, and adapted to serve directly a
simple purpose. An elaborate act, or course of
conduct, is one that is composed of many unlike
parts, and is directed to serve its purpose through
a series of acts, many of which serve ends that are
proximate and intermediate to the main purpose of
the action. Among spontaneous acts, yawning is
crude, dancing a minuet is elaborate. Among elicited
acts, a blow in response to a blow is crude, a lawsuit
in response to aggression is elaborate. Among
instinctive acts, the nesting of the gull or the auk,
in a slight hollow on the bare ground, is crude ; the
nesting of the magpie or the weaver-bird, in a com-
plicated structure, is elaborate. The web of the
house-spider is crude, that of the geometrical spider
is elaborate. The comb of the bumble-bee is crude,
that of the hive-bee is elaborate. Among reasoned
acts, a shout to attract attention is crude ; a speech

ACTION AS ORIGINAL 69

to couviuce an audience is elaborate. Among im-
pulsive acts, a hand-clasp on meeting a friend is crude;
a hasty marriage is elaborate. Among deliberate
acts, the pulling of a trigger, after long aiming,
is crude ; the learning of a profession is elaborate.
Among voluntary acts, opening a letter is crude ;
writing a letter is elaborate. Among involuntary
acts, starting at a loud noise is crude, while the
continuing act of playing the piano, or typewriting,
is elaborate. The last example, however, is scarcely
accurate. Each individual movement entering into
the composition of the act is, indeed, made independent
of a separate volition, but the whole act thus pro-
duced by the combination of notes, is voluntary.
There is, perhaps, in the range of the normal, no
very elaborate act that is wholly involuntary ;
though disease offers us many examples of highly
elaborate acts that are involuntary. Some epileptic
fits have a low degree of elaboration ; the movements
of chorea are highly elaborate ; and in post-epileptic
automatism, it is frequent to meet with acts so
elaborate as undressing, taking out the watch and
winding it, and acts more elaborate still. Since all
acts are novel when they are done for the first time
by the actor, novel acts may be crude or elaborate ;
and since all acts become habitual, and at length
automatic, if repeated sufficiently often ; habitual
and automatic acts may be either crude or elaborate.
It is important to make the distinction into crude
and elaborate acts, apart from that into instinctive
and reasoned ; for the distinctions are often confused.
It is often understood, or assumed, that elaborateness

70 CONDUCT BOOK I

of action is a measure of intelligence ; and this is
quite true in one meaning of intelligence; but then,
intelligent action must not be confused with reasoned
action, as understood and defined in this book. By
a reasoned act, is here meant an act that is specially
adapted to special circumstances ; an act that is
not performed in a fixed unvarying way, but is
flexible and modifiable to suit the exigencies of
circumstances, and especially of new circumstances.
Action that is not reasoned, in the sense here used,
may yet be extremely elaborate. The action of a
magpie in building its nest ; the collective action
of bees in building their comb ; and of beavers in
excavating their canals, building their dams and
their lodges, are extremely elaborate ; and, as far
as elaborate, are intelligent, if elaboration is a sign
of intelligence ; but none of these actions need be
reasoned. As a whole, they are not reasoned. They
are the fixed and predictable results of organised
nervous mechanisms ; and the animals, so long as
they are not mechanically prevented, could not act
otherwise than in the way they do. In the course
of executing these instinctive acts, unwonted circum-
stances may arise, and may be dealt with in new
ways specially adapted to the circumstances ; and
such action would be reasoned in the sense here used ;
but if no such circumstances are met with, or if,
being met with, they arouse no corresponding
modification of action, but are dealt with as the
stereotyped plan, then, however elaborate that plan
may be, the action is not reasoned action in the sense
in which reasoned action is here defined. The want

ACTION AS ORIGINAI. 71

of appreciation of the distinction that is here drawn,
between intelligent action, in the sense of elaborate
action, and reasoned action, in the sense of action
specially adapted to special circumstances, is re-
sponsible for a good deal of the confusion about
instinct and reason that has prevailed, and that still
prevails.

X. ACTION AS PLAY OR WORK

Like several of the other distinctions that we have
made among modes of action, the distinction between i
play and work is one that is generally allowed, and, \
in a sense, generally recognised ; yet I know of no j
definite distinction having been drawn between them, I
and I think it would puzzle most of those, who (
recognise that there is a distinction between them,
to say what the distinction is. I suppose a very
common notion would be that that occupation by
which the living is earned, is work, while occupation
which is unremunerated, is play. I do not think this
distinction could stand criticism. What is to be said
of one person taking gratuitously the work of another,
as an act of charity, and without remuneration ?
What is to be said of the very abundant and arduous
occupation, that is undertaken by the great multitude
of men and women who serve gratuitously on public
bodies, and as honorary secretaries to societies and
committees of all kinds ? No doubt many of those
occupations are pursued for the benefit that they
may ultimately and indirectly bring to the earning
of the living ; but very many are pursued with no
such object, and yet the work done is, I think.

72 CONDUCT

properly called work. Moreover, much occupation
that is remunerated, partakes of the nature of play.
Although it is remunerated, it is of the character of
play. Some men take their holiday camping out in
a tent with a friend or two ; others take their holiday
camping out as territorials, and enjoy themselves
quite as much as if they were bent on pleasure alone,
and none the less because their services are remuner-
ated. The man who goes into wild countries for sport,
enjoys his sport none the less because he collects
specimens by which he hopes to defray his expenses.
Nor is the employment of the gambler at Monte Carlo,
or elsewhere, any the less play when he wins than
when he loses. Others suggest that work is that which
is useful, and play is doing that which is not useful.
If this is to be the test, then the toil of prisoners
under the old regime, at the crank and the treadmill,
was play ; and then the huntsman who follows the
fox across country is working, if the exercise serves
to ward oft' his gout. No. These tests will not
serve. The true distinction between work and play
lies, in my opinion, in whether the occupation is or
is not congenial and pleasant. Work is doing what
you don't like. Play is doing what is pleasant to
do, and what we would rather do than not. Those
men who earn their living by an occupation that is
congenial to them, pass their lives in play, as long
as the occupation is not pursued after it has ceased
to be congenial and grateful. If, indeed, an occupa-
tion, that is ordinarily congenial and delightful, is
pursued after the point of fatigue is reached, so that
it ceases to be congenial, and becomes irksome, then

ACTION AS ORIGINAL 73

it is no longer play, but work, and this is true,
whether it is remunerated or not : whether it is
useful or not. And if, in an occupation that is
generally distasteful, patches occur now and then,
that are pleasant and congenial, then the doing of
such portions of the daily task is not work, but play.

XI. ACTION AS SKILFUL OR UNSKILFUL

The distinction between skilful and unskilful
action is important in practice, but it is so well
recognised and understood that it needs but little
demonstration. Still, more than one quality in action
is often included when we speak of it as skilful.
Strictly speaking, skilful action is that which attains
the end in view, most completely, and with the least
expenditure of effort. Since many ends can be
attained only, or best, by elaborate or accurate action,
and cannot be attained, or can be only incompletely
and imperfectly attained, by crude action, it happens
that the term skilful is erroneously applied to elaborate
or very accurate action, while acts that are crude, or
that need but little accuracy, are considered unskilful.
Hence the distinction with skilled and unskilled
workers. So long as skilled is not regarded as
synonymous with skilful, and unskilled with unskilful,
no harm is done ; but the terms are often confused.
In one sense — the correct sense — a navvy in excavat-
ing a hole in the ground, may exhibit a high degree
of skill, in that he achieves his end completely, with
a minimum expenditure of effort. In another sense
— in confusion with skilled — his action, in comparison

74 CONDUCT

with that of a watchmaker, is unskilled, in that it is
crude, and does not need great accuracy. Where the
one employs but few and simple movements, the
movements of the other are numerous and complicated.
Where the one works to an inch or two, the other
works to a thousandth of an inch. Both may be
equally skilful, but both are not equally skilled.

By the nature of things, there can be no excess of
skill, but defect of skill is a frequent enough defect,
and one of which every one has experience, both in
his own acts and in those of others.

BOOK II

CONDUCT

CHAPTER VI

PURPOSES OR ENDS

The purposes or ends that conduct seeks to attain
are numerous, and need classification before they can
be systematically studied. Purposes may be divided
into ultimate, proximate, and intermediate. My
proximate purpose in writing a letter is to make an
appointment. My intermediate purpose is to obtain
support for my application for a lucrative post. My
ultimate purpose is to secure my livelihood. Ultimate
purposes are, in all cases, dictated by instincts ; and
here we meet with a new meaning of the word
instinct. We have already spoken of instinctive
action, and have found it to be marked by its
determinate character. It is fixed ; invariable ; pre-
dictable ; the same for every individual of the same
species. We have found, moreover, that it is subject
to the invasion of reasoned action ; and that, while
instinctive action pursues, with unvarying constancy,
a certain end, reason modifies the means employed,
so that the end may be the more effectually attained.
We are now to notice that if an end is sought, it is
sought under the dictation of desire ; and, while the
desires for proximate and intermediate ends may, in

77

78 CONDUCT

many cases, be termed reasoned desires, in that they,
like reasoned acts, are modifiable under the stress of
circumstances ; ultimate ends are instinctive, in the
same sense that modes of action are instinctive ; that
is to say, they are determinate, fixed, predictable, the
same for every individual of the species. The term
instinct is sometimes applied to the mode of action,
sometimes to the desire that prompts the mode of
action. The former I term instinctive action ; and
the latter is instinctive desire ; but for the sake of
brevity, I speak hereafter of instinctive desire as
instinct, and no confusion need arise if this meaning
is kept in view.

Instincts, thus understood, are inherited desires.
They are desires that are as much and as integral a
part of the inheritance of each individual, as any
portion of the bodily organisation. Instinctive action
is action the result of an inherited nervous mechanism.
What the structural embodiment, or basis, or sub-
stratum, of a desire may be, we do not know ; but
that, whatever it is, it is as much, and as purely and
truly, inherited, as the mechanism that actuates in-
stinctive action — of that we may be sure. Instinct
dictates with imperious urgency the ends that we
must pursue ; reason finds the means to attain those
ends. A classification of ultimate purposes is, there-
fore, a classification of instinctive desires.

We have seen that action that is become automatic,
approximates in character to instinctive action, and
becomes a sort of secondary or acquired instinctive
action ; and correspondingly, in the department of
desire, there are secondary or acquired desires, that

CHAT. VI PURPOSES OR ENDS 79

approximate in character to instincts. The course of
conduct by which the ultimate purposes of life are
satisfied, becomes, in man, extremely complicated and
prolonged ; each ultimate purpose being pursued
through a long chain of intermediary purposes. In
order to fit his children to earn their own living, and
to support families of their own, a man sends them
to school and to college, sends them abroad, each of
these acts being achieved by a chain of subsidiary
acts ; invites their friends to stay with him ; extends
his influence in various directions, by various means ;
enters them into a profession ; and assists them in
innumerable ways. Each of these subsidiary, proxi-
mate, or intermediate ends is prompted immediately
by its particular desire, ultimately by the ultimate
or instinctive desire. The proximate desire is not
instinctive. It may, perhaps, be called reasoned.
There is no instinctive desire to send a child to
school, any more than there is an instinctive desire
to send him to Harrow or Winchester ; but some of
the subsidiary purposes, serving as steps to the
achievement of the ultimate or instinctive purposes,
are so invariable, so fixed in the race, so common to
all individuals of the species, so determinate, that
they may properly be called instinctive. For instance,
one of the primary ends pursued by all animals is
that of self-conservation ; and in the circumstances
in which man lives, and has lived for innumerable
generations, one of the principal means of self-con-
servation is the accumulation, in times of plenty, of
material for food and other wants, that may serve
him in times of scarcity. This intermediary end is

80 CONDUCT

now become instinctive. The desire of accumulation
is an inherited desire, and is experienced and dis-
played by all men in all circumstances. One of the
main purposes of all animals — of all organic beings —
is racial continuance ; and as a means to racial con-
tinuance, combat among males, for the possession of
females, has been found effectual, and practised,
among certain species, for innumerable generations.
In these species has been developed, therefore, the
intermediary instinct of combat — the desire for
combat, or fighting instinct ; which, primarily mani-
fested for the possession of females ; then found
effectual for the protection of the family ; and at
length important for the preservation of the com-
munity ; has overflowed, as it were, into other
departments of action, and become, in many
persons, by the process of anticipation of motive
already considered, an end to be pursued for its own
sake — for the mere gratification of its pursuit. Thus,
in addition to the few great primitive instincts by
which all conduct is ultimately prompted, there are
many intermediary ends which are become instinctive ;
and many others which are in course of fixation into
instinctive ends.

Hence it appears, that a classification of instincts
might be made on the basis of their order, as primary,
secondary, tertiary, and so forth ; and if this were
done, it would probably be found that all instincts,
of every kind and description, are subsidiary to
the primitive and fundamental instinct of race-
continuance. The main conclusion reached by the
monumental discoveries of Darwin in the last

PURPOSES OR ENDS 81

century, is that all life is teleological — is directed to
a purpose — and that the ultimate end, to which all
the action, and all the functions, of living organisms
are directed, is the continuation of the race to which
the organism belongs. In the great scheme of
nature, the interest and welfare of the individual
are ignored, except in as far as they subserve the
interest and welfare of the race. To the life of
every individual, there is a fixed, a natural, an
inevitable termination. The life of the race has no
such bound : its prolongation is indefinite. If the
individual survives to the age of reproduction, and
performs that function, the purpose of nature, as far
as that individual is concerned, is served ; and the
individual may perish without detriment to that
purpose ; and sooner or later, he does perish.
Hence, all the activities we are now to consider — all
the instinctive and other purposes that are pursued
by man- — are calculated to serve, directly or indirectly,
the primitive, fundamental purposes of race con-
tinuation and race preservation.

If the race is to be continued, it is first of all
necessary that its component individuals shall survive
to the reproductive age, and as long thereafter as is
necessary for the nourishment and cherishing of
the offspring, and the establishment of them in such
wise, that they, in their turn, may serve the purpose
of race-preservation and race-continuance. Owing
to the high degree of elaboration that the activities,
and therefore the structure and nervous organisation,
of man have attained, his full development is a slow
process, and takes many years to complete. It is

G

82 CONDUCT

long before lie is able to fend for himself completely ;
and during these long years, he would inevitably
perish, if he were not protected by that parental
care, which vicariously takes the place of self-pro-
tection. As he grows older, his own ability gradually
supplants that of his parents, until he attains to
full self-supporting capacity ; to the maintenance
of which a group of subsidiary instincts, and sub-
sidiary modes, contribute. It matters not, therefore,
whether we take first the reproductive activities, as
the most primitive, to which all others are secondary
and subsidiary ; or the self-supporting or self-con-
servative, which are a necessary preliminary to the
reproductive ; or the parental, which are a necessary
preliminary to the self-conservative. We may take
that which is most convenient ; and as the self-
conservative group contains the simplest and crudest
modes of activity, we may well give them first place.
Among the many expedients into which the
struggle for existence has thrust different races of
animals, it is scarcely too much to say that the most
efficient, and therefore the most widely adopted, is
that of living together in communities, more or less
organised. The grade of organisation reached by
different communities, varies within very wide limits.
Beginning with mere physical contiguity, like that
of mussels on the rocks, the community reaches, in
many cases, so high a degree of organisation, as to
consist of classes of individuals, differing not only in
function, but so difi'erent in structure, that they
would be taken to belong to difterent genera, were
it not known that they are all the offspring of the

CHAP. VI PURPOSES OR ENDS 88

same mother ; and so specialised in function, as to
be incapable of living apart from the community
they serve, and by which they are supported. It
is among ants and bees that these extremes of
communal organisation are found ; and in some of
these societies, not only are classes of individuals
of very different size, structure, and function,
members of the same family, associated together ;
but included in the community may be slaves,
belonging to a different race, and even domesticated
animals. None of the communities of mankind are
organised to such a height of specialisation, in the
structure of individuals, as the communities of ants
and bees ; but many of them are very highly
organised ; and a large share of the conduct of
individual men and women is determined by their
relations to one another, and to the community of
which they form part. This section of conduct has
its own set of instincts, and of non - instinctive
motives ; and demands separate and careful con-
sideration.

Thus the three great departments of conduct
are that which is subservient to the conservation
of the individual ; that which subserves the pre-
servation of the community ; and that which provides
for the continuation of the race ; and each of these
has its subdivisions, and its own instincts, primary,
secondary, tertiary, and so on. But though these
are the main, they are not the only departments of
conduct. There are other instincts, other desires
inherent in the nature of man, that crave satisfaction
by modes of action. Most of these he shares with

84 CONDUCT book n

the lower animals : some may, perhaps, be his own
peculiar property.

As man is born with certain innate capacities for
action, so he is born with desires to exercise these
capacities. The function of the nervous system,
which is a compendium of the whole organism, is
to accumulate and expend motion ; and the ways
in which motion shall be expended, are to some
extent pre - ordained in the organised nervous
mechanisms that he inherits. They are determined
by his instinctive and innate desires. Much of
this motion is expended in the satisfaction of the
primary instincts already enumerated ; but it may
be, and it often is, especially in youth, that the
motion accumulated in the nervous system, is in
excess of what can be then expended in the pursuit
of these ultimate ends. When he has satisfied all
the main instincts that press for satisfaction at the
moment, and in the circumstances in which he then
is, a surplus or residue of motion remains, unex-
pended and demanding expenditure — a surplus whose
retention is irksome, and a source of uneasiness that
may amount to massive misery. To get rid of this
surplus, action is undertaken. It is undertaken
for no end ulterior to the mere expenditure of motion,
and the relief of the uneasiness that the accumulated
motion causes. Ex hypothesi, the primary desires
afford no scope or opportunity for expenditure, or
expenditure on them is become too irksome to be
continued. The motion is expended, therefore, in
ways that, with respect to these primary desires,
or ultimate ends, are wasteful and unremunerative.

CHAP. VI PURPOSES OR ENDS 85

The motion is expended for the mere sake of
exercising capacities that have lain idle, and clamour
for exercise. It is expended in recreation.

Among the capacities with which man, in common
with many other animals, is endowed, is that of
appreciating beauty ; and a certain proportion of
the spare energy, left over after vital requirements
are satisfied, is expended on the contemplation of
beauty, and the making of beautiful things. This
is, of course, a branch of recreative activity, but it
is sufficiently distinct from other modes of that
activity, to demand separate consideration. The
contemplation of beauty, and the measures taken to
go where beautiful things are to be found, constitute
one phase of aesthetic conduct. The making and
acquisition of beautiful things constitutes another ;
and the huge prices given for beautiful pictures, and
the labour expended on producing beautiful music,
and beautiful architecture, bear witness to the urgency
of aesthetic desire.

There are other qualities besides beauty, that
attract us to witness the things that possess them.
We go to see the carcass of a whale thrown up on
the beach, attracted, not by the beauty of the whale,
but by its strangeness ; we go to witness plays,
attracted, not by the beauty of the scenery or the
dialogue, but by the dramatic interest ; we read
novels, not so much for the beauty of the language
or the thought, as for interest in the story ; we
pursue these courses of conduct, not for the purpose
of contemplating beauty, but for the satisfaction of
curiosity, which is one of the ultimate, though not

86 CONDUCT

one of the primary, aims of conduct. Curiosity is
an instinct that man shares with many of the lower
animals ; and investigation, the mode of action that
it prompts, is a very important mode of conduct.
It extends from listening to the gossip of the village
crone, to the most refined and daring speculation of
the philosopher ; and accounts for much conduct
that cannot be otherwise explained.

In some degree, Curiosity enters into the com-
position of the Religious instinct — that desire for
knowledge of, and communion with, the unknown
and incomprehensible verities, that surround man-
kind on all sides with a veil of mystery. This
instinct is the motive of a peculiar mode of conduct
— religious ceremonial — and prompts also the modi-
fication of conduct in all its departments, but
especially in the three major or primary modes.

Before considering in detail the departments of
conduct, — three primary and four secondary — that
have been enumerated, it is necessary, since this book
is intended as a guide to morbid as well as to normal
conduct, to indicate generally the ways in which
conduct may be disordered. These ways are best
indicated by observing the disorders of the instincts
by which the conduct is prompted.

Instincts, and the conduct that is undertaken to
satisfy them, may be disordered in four ways. They
may be excessive, defective, perverted, or reversed.

Excess and defect are relative terms. It is not
always easy, it is not always possible, to say whether
any particular phase of conduct is in fact excessive or
defective — whether, for instance, a man eats too much

PURPOSES OR ENDS 87

or too little — but it is easy to understand that conduct,
in any particular department, may be excessive or
defective ; and to appreciate in what the excess or
defect consists. Perversion and reversal need, how-
ever, some explanation. By perversion of conduct,
I mean conduct prompted by an instinct, but calcu-
lated to defeat the very end that the normal instinct
serves. The end served by the instinct of eating is
the nourishment of the body, and its maintenance in
health and strensfth. But sometimes the desire of

o

food is perverted, so that instead of the appetite being
directed to beef and mutton, and bread and butter,
it is directed to clay, or chalk, or filth. In such a
case, I speak of the instinct, and the conduct which
it prompts, as perverted. When an instinct is re-
versed, the desire is to attain an end the direct
contradictory of the end contemplated by the
normal instinct. Thus, the normal instinct of self-
conservation is sometimes reversed, and replaced by
an urgent desire of self-destruction, or self-mutilation.
I must guard myself against being supposed to mean
that in such cases there is necessarily a real reversal
of instinct. What happens is, no doubt, that some
antagonistic instinct — for many instincts are an-
tagonistic to others — has gained such predominance
and exaggeration, as to swamp the instinct that
seems to be reversed ; and, for practical purposes,
to abolish and supersede it, either for the time being,
or permanently.

CHAPTER VIT

DIRECTLY SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT

Conduct that is directed to the conservation of the
actor, is susceptible of division into two very distinct
departments, — that which is directly self-conserva-
tive, and that which is indirectly self-conservative.
The former consists of those modes of action by
which life is preserved from day to day and from
hour to hour, including those acts that must be per-
formed vicariously for infants and young children in
order to keep them alive, and without which they
would perish. Such conduct is that of procuring food
and drink ; of the avoidance of manifest dangers ;
and of dealing with antagonists. Indirectly self-
conservative conduct is that by which a person
administers his means and earns his livelihood.

The first mode of conduct that comes under review
is the eating of food ; and this may be regarded in
three aspects, — selection, quantity, and mode of
prehension.

The first stage of eating is the selection of food.
Normally we eat what is edible ; but the infant stuffs
into its mouth anything it can get hold of; and this
defect in the selection of food is paralleled by the

88

CH. VII SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 89

idiot, whose power of discrimination has never ad-
vanced beyond the stage of infancy ; and by the
dement, who has lost the power once possessed. The
ingestion, as food, of inappropriate substances, may
depend, as in these cases, on mere want of discrimina-
tion between what is edible and what is not ; or it
may depend upon a deliberate selection of inedible
matter ; a perversion of conduct that is not very
infrequent. Geophagy, the eating of clay or loam,
is practised by some primitive tribes of men ; and
hysterical girls, as well as insane persons, sometimes
have a morbid appetite for chalk, or coal, or other
inedible matter. The craving of pregnant women for
strange food is a matter of notoriety, but it does not
often extend to what is actually inedible. Without
being inedible, the food selected may be strange and
bizarre ; but in judging of this, we must remember
that what is considered fit to eat is largely a matter
of fashion and convention. We are apt to shudder
at the idea of eating snails, although among those
with whom it is the fashion to eat them, they are
considered a delicacy ; and we ourselves have no
objection to eating their congener, the whelk, nor
even snails themselves, when they are called peri-
winkles. We should regard leniently, therefore, those
who have an appetite for meat that is raw, or semi-
putrid, or in other ways unusual. But when the
appetite extends to that which is inherently disgust-
ing to every animal, we must consider it morbid, and
no plea of eccentricity can excuse coprophagy. A
less degree of disorder of the same kind is eviuced
by those who refuse appetising and daintily served

90 CONDUCT

food, on the ground of their unworthiness, and
demand offal, scraps, and the leavings of other
people.

Excessive care in the selection of food is unpleasant
to witness, but is rarely pushed to a degree that can
be recognised as morbid. Rejection of food from a
suspicion that it is poisoned, or that it contains filth,
cannot be regarded as an excess of scrupulosity in
selection, whether the suspicion is sane or insane.
To some persons, the appearance of a hair in a plate
of soup contaminates the whole tureen, and this is
within the normal. There are persons for whom no
food is good enough, who find fault with whatever is
put before them, and turn up a supercilious nose at
wholesome viands. Such conduct is vulgar, but can
scarcely be regarded as morbid.

Quantitative variation in eating, extends from the
grossest excess to total abstinence. Mere gluttony,
though it is very common in the insane, cannot be
regarded as itself evidence of insanity ; and a certain
measured degree of abstinence or reticence in eating
is a recognised practice ; but fasting that is so
prolonged and excessive as to be detrimental to
health, must be regarded as disorder, whether it is
practised with suicidal intent, or whether it arises
from religious fanaticism.

In this connection may be mentioned a phase of
conduct that is occasionally witnessed — the artificial
production of vomiting. Usually it is practised, as
one of the vagaries of hysteria, to excite sympathy
and interest in the vomiter ; but it has been practised
in secret by prisoners, to produce a mysterious

cH.vii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 91

wasting, in spite of abundant feeding, and thus
contribute to a premature release.

Under the head of ingestion of food, may be
considered the taking: of stimulants of all forms and
in all kinds of ways. The following account, written
for the Report of the Departmental Committee on
the Inebriates' Acts, embodies my views on the
subject.

A capacity for being pleasurably affected by the
consumption of alcohol, or some other intoxicant —
opium, betel, kava, coca, kola, hashish, etc. — is a
fundamental fact in human nature. It is common
to nearly all human beings who have tried the effect
of such drugs, and even to some of the lower animals.

Dr. A. Shadwell, in his book on Drink, Temper-
ance and Legislation, says : — ' The fundamental fact
at the bottom of the drink question is the physiological
effect of alcoholic liquor on the human organism.
People like it, and drink to please themselves. Man's
liking for alcoholic liquor rests on a physiological
basis that can no more be argued away than the
physiological difference between the sexes.'

The late Sir George Balfour, M.D., in his article
on ' Drunkenness ' in the EncyclopcBcLia Britannica,
says : — ' However degrading and demoralising the
vice of drunkenness may be, it is important to
remember, in all our thoughts concerning it, that it
is the outcome of a craving innate in human nature,
whether civilised or savage.'

Dr. Archdall Reid, in his books on The Principles
of Heredity and on Alcoholism, argues at length that
the fundamental cause of inebriety, underlying all

92 CONDUCT

secondary causes, is an excessive susceptibility to
the attraction of the intoxicating^ agent used.

Mankind in general seems to possess, in varying
degree, this capacity for deriving enjoyment from
the consumption of intoxicants.

No desire for the consumption of alcohol exists
antecedent to actual trial of its use. Savage races,
and civilised persons, who have never taken alcohol,
have no desire for it whatever, however insatiate
their craving for it may become when once they
have indulged in it.

Most persons now, in civilised countries, take
some intoxicant ; and most of them remain sober
without effort. Some, however, get drunk from time
to time. A smaller number are habitual drunkards.

In every person, a certain quantity of alcohol will
produce the familiar effects of intoxication. This
quantity varies with the person, and with the
rapidity with which the alcohol is taken. The
symptoms, also, vary with the person intoxicated,
with the amount and kind of alcoholic liquor taken,
and with the length of time over which its use is spread.

In most people, the use of alcohol gives rise at
length to satiety, and to temporary distaste for
further indulgence. The quantity needed to produce
this effect varies much in different persons. The
important difference is that, in some persons, satiety
is produced before intoxication, and in others,
intoxication is produced before satiety. Every
person can be intoxicated, provided sufficient alcohol
is taken ; but there are many in whom satiety seems
never to be reached.

cH.vii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCTOR

If these propositions, on whicli it is unlikely that
there will be any material difference of opinion, be
granted, they lead to the following conclusions : —

1. That when satiety is produced before intoxica-
tion, the person so affected is in no danger of
becoming intoxicated. He is never tempted to get
drunk. Before the stage of intoxication is reached,
he has already acquired a temporary distaste for
alcohol, which is his sufficient safeguard.

2. Persons in whom the point of intoxication is
reached before satiation occurs, will, unless other
influences intervene, go on drinking until they
become intoxicated.

3. But many persons who are liable to become
intoxicated before satiation occurs, stop drinking
before they become drunk. They are not actuated
solely by desire for drink. They foresee and recog-
nise the danger of becoming drunk ; and before the
point of drunkenness is reached, refuse to indulge
further the desire for drink. They exercise their
will, under the influence of a number of desires
conflicting with that for drink, such as self-respect,
and desire to retain the respect of others — exercises
of volition which, under such circumstances, we call
'self-control.' Whether persons, in whom the
satiation point lies beyond the limit of sobriety,
will become drunk or no, depends primarily on the
relative strength of the desire for drink and of such
self-control. If the desire for drink is the stronger,
they will become drunk ; if self-control is the
stronger, they will remain sober.

Seeing that the great majority of persons who

94 CONDUCT

BOOK II

take alcohol are not drunkards, it follows that, in
them, either the satiation point is reached before
intoxication occurs, or the desire for drink is over-
mastered by that voluntary reinforcement of other
desires which we call self-control.

4. There is, however, a large number of persons
who occupy an intermediate position between the
habitually sober and the habitually drunken. These
are persons who become intoxicated before satiation is
reached, and in whom self-control, if it is exercised,
is capable of overcoming the desire for drink ; but
who yet allow themselves to become drunk, because
they do not choose to exercise this self-control. They
do not reinforce, by voluntary exertion, the influence
of the desires antagonistic to the desire for drink.
They possess sufficient strength of will, if they choose
to exert it, to cease drinking before the intoxication
stage is reached ; but they do not, or they do not
always, exert this volition. Either they are not
sufficiently alive to the disadvantages of drunkenness ;
or, realising them, deliberately decide that such dis-
advantages are more than counterbalanced by the
enjoyment of drunkenness ; or they are reluctant to
run counter to the practice of their companions ; or
they feel themselves bound to continue the practice
of treating and being treated ; or, for some other
reason, they deliberately refrain from exercising the
self-control they possess. These persons form the
class of occasional drunkards, week-end drunkards,
bank-holiday drunkards, convivial drunkards, etc.

Lastly, there are those in whom the satiation point
is postponed until after intoxication is reached, or is

CH. VII

SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 95

altoo^ether absent, and in whom the desire for drink
overmasters all other conflicting desires, even when
these are reinforced by the utmost exertion of will.
Such persons form the class of inebriates, who fall
naturally into the following divisions : —

A. Persons who are born with an excessive degree
of the common capacity for deriving pleasure from
the use of alcohol, but are not endowed with a
corresponding exaggeration of that combination of
faculties that we call self-control. Deriving more
pleasure than others from the use of alcohol, they
desire it more strongly. Desiring it more strongly,
they need a corresponding increase of self-control to
enable them to abstain from its excessive use. Such
persons are not necessarily deficient in intelligence,
strength of will, or desire to keep sober. They may
be superior to the average in some or all of these
qualities ; but desire for drink is in them so greatly
intensified, that a capacity for self-control, even
beyond the average, is insufiicient to keep them from
excess. Such persons are often of great capability
and intelligence, and frequently are members of
families in which other examples of this form of
inebriety occur. The desire for drink, which may be
very great, is often intermittent or paroxysmal in
occurrence ; and the amount of alcohol taken is often
enormous.

B. Persons who, with or without an excessive
degree of the common capacity for deriving pleasure
from the use of alcohol, are deficient in self-control.
They lack either the intelligence to appreciate the ill
effects of drunkenness, or the self-respect and other

96 CONDUCT book n

desires antagonistic to drunkenness, or the force of
character and strength of will necessary to withstand
the appeal of a desire for immediate gratification at
whatever cost of future detriment. The lack of self-
control shows itself not only in inability to withstand
the allurements of alcohol, but also in outbreaks of
temper, of violence, of restlessness, or of destructive-
ness, on slight provocation. Many such persons are
deficient in intelligence ; they come of families in
which there are other instances of mental disorder ;
and, in them a small amount of alcohol is usually
sufficient to produce intoxication.

C. Besides the congenital peculiarities above
described, there is no reason to doubt that continued
self-indulgence by the ' occasional ' drunkard may
cause the subordination of self-control to the desire
for drink. By continual indulgence, the desire for
liquor is increased. This is especially the case when
alcohol has been originally taken for some special
effect. It may be that its stimulation enables the
drinker to accomplish tasks that could not be under-
taken without its aid ; or it may be (and this is
more frequent in women) that it was originally taken
in illness, or for the relief of pain or discomfort.
Whatever the reason that led to the practice, it is
found that the longer the habit is continued, the
greater becomes the desire for the drug ; and also
that an increasing quantity is needed to produce the
effect for which it was originally taken.

By continually yielding to desire, and continual
failure to exert self-control, not only is desire
strengthened, but self-control is weakened, until it

cH.vii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 97

is reduced permanently below the point necessary
to overcome the desire ; and thus inebriety is
established.

Inebriates of this class are miscellaneous in
character. Sometimes they approach to Class A or
Class B in family history and mental qualities, but
often have little apparent affinity to either. They
are inebriates by artificial culture rather than by
nature ; and when they are mentally defective or
disordered, the defect or disorder is often the con-
sequence, rather than the cause, of the drinking
habit.

This view of inebriety, which regards it as an
alteration of the ratio of self-control to desire for
drink, throws light upon the question whether or not
it should be regarded as a disease. It is a consti-
tutional peculiarity ; and in many cases depends on
the qualities with which a person is born ; in many
is acquired by vicious indulgence. When such a
constitutional peculiarity is acquired, it would be
straining the meaning of words to call it a disease.
When it is inborn, the question becomes one of
nomenclature. If such native peculiarities as the
possession of a sixth linger, or the absence of a
taste for music are rightly considered diseases, then
the native constitutional peculiarity that underlies
some cases of inebriety may be considered a disease ;
but there are cogent reasons why the term disease
should not be strained so as to cover inebriety. By
disease is commonly understood a state of things for
which the diseased person is not responsible, and
which he cannot alter by any effort of will. But

H

98 CONDUCT book h

this is not the case with inebriety. If the desire for
drink can be increased by indulgence, and self-
control diminished by lack of exercise, equally the
reverse effect can be produced by voluntary effort.
Desire for drink may be diminished by abstinence,
and self-control, like any other faculty, may be
strengthened by exercise. It is erroneous and
disastrous to imply, by calling inebriety a disease,
that it is to be accepted with fatalistic resignation,
and that the inebriate need make no effort to mend
his ways. It is the more so, since inebriety is in
many cases surmounted, and in many more cases
diminished ; and the cases that recover and amend
are those in which the inebriate desires and strives
for his recovery.

The mode of prehension of food next comes under
review. In these days, when not only paupers in
workhouses, but the poorest of the poor, outside of
those relatively luxurious institutions, would consider
themselves degraded if they were deprived of the
use of forks, it is startling to remember that in the
high and luxurious civilisations of ancient Egypt, of
Crete, of Babylon, of Assyria, of China, of Hindostan,
of Athens, and of Rome, the use of forks in eating
was unknown. Not until the sixteenth century did
they come into use in Europe ; and printing was an
established art, when the most refined and cultured
men and women still dipped their fingers in the dish,
and gnawed bones held in the hand. AVe should
expect that a practice so lately acquired, would be
lost early in the general dissolution of conduct that
takes place in insanity ; and it is with some surprise

CH. vii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 99

that we find it still retained by dements, who have
lost modes of conduct of immeasurably greater anti-
quity. Still, we do find, as might have been expected,
that the insane make a much more lavish use of
their fingers at meals than is decorous.

The maintenance of personal cleanliness is a mode
of conduct of comparatively late acquirement. As,
indeed, it is but very imperfectly acquired, even by
many adults, in civilised communities, so it is one
that is very early lost in general dissolution of
conduct. Cleanliness of the person and neatness of
attire are among the earliest qualities to be lost in
that mode of insanity which is an even dissolution,
proceeding in regular order, from loss of the latest
acquired modes of conduct, and attacking them,
successively, in the inverse order of their acquirement.
Accurately regular order of this kind is rare ; but all
insanity approximates to this order, subject to the
disturbing influence of intercurrent factors ; and in
most forms of insanity that proceed to any appreci-
able depth, failure of personal cleanliness and neatness
is a common feature. Washing is neglected ; the hair
is unkempt ; the nails are dirty ; the stockings down
at heel ; the garments put on anyhow, unbrushed
and unfastened. Such, too, is the conduct, in this
respect, of young children, before they have acquired
this mode of conduct; and such is the conduct of
those older persons, whose conduct remains always
in the stage of that of young children, and who are
called Idiots or Imbeciles.

Defect of personal cleanliness and neatness is not
the only disorder to which this mode of conduct is

100 CONDUCT BOOK II

liable. There are persons in whom the instinctive
desire to be personally clean, is developed in morbid
excess ; and their conduct expresses this excess. Such
persons spend a large part of their waking time in
washing themselves. They put on clean linen a
dozen or more times a day. They constantly search
themselves for signs of soiling ; and can neither con-
vince themselves, nor be convinced, that they are
not befouled in some way, or infested with vermin.

Reversal of this mode of conduct is by no means
unknown, even among the sane. There have been,
and are yet, persons who revel and delight in personal
uncleanliness, and even cherish the presence of vermin
on their persons. I do not refer to the supposed
delight of children in ' getting into a mess,' which
is merely indifference to the uncleanly consequences
of following some alluring pursuit, such as making
of mud pies. Such uncleanliness is incidental, and
is not, like that now under consideration, pursued
and desired for its own sake. Religious asceticism
is sometimes displayed in this manner. The devotees
of some religions have bound themselves neither to
wash, to shave, nor to change their clothing, for a
certain time, or for the rest of their lives ; or, without
binding themselves by vow, have followed this course
upon the ascetic principle. When the body of
Thomas a Becket was stripped of its clothes, the
innermost garment was found to be ' boiling over '
with lice, which was proof positive to the spectators
that the departed archbishop was a saint.

The modes of conduct hitherto considered, are
modes of spontaneous action. The next — conduct

OH. VII SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 101

in the presence of" personal danger — is elicited action.
Conduct directed to the preservation of a whole skin,
and the avoidance of physical injury and mutilation,
and dealing with antagonism generally, is not entered
upon, except it is elicited by circumstances that
threaten us with injury ; and when such circum-
stances arise, they are met in one of seven different
ways ; depending in part on the character of the
circumstances, in part on the character of the actor.
Each of these ways merges and grades into those
nearest to it ; but in the type, they are sufficiently
distinct.

1. When danger arises from some circumstance
of overwhelming power, the efitect may be to produce
complete inhibition of all action on the part of the
threatened person ; who then passively awaits de-
struction, even though the way to safety may be
plain and easy. In many accounts of overwhelming
calamity, by fire, flood, shipwreck, earthquake, and
other natural forces, we hear of some of the victims
being utterly paralysed, and incapable of making
any effort for their own escape or preservation. They
have to be dragged out of danger by main force, and
carried away, if they are to be saved at all. For
themselves, they are incapable of any effort whatever.
In thus behaving, they exhibit the same conduct, or
want of conduct, as is seen in many of the lower
animals, which are said to simulate death in the
presence of danger. They do, in fact, drop inert
to the ground, from which they are often with
difficulty distinguished ; and their invisibility secures
their safety. In human calamity, this beneficial efiect

102 CONDUCT

is not often secured, and its occurrence in the lower
animals is, no doubt, incidental.

Even in the presence of overwhelming calamity,
total inhibition is rare. Usually, with the inhibition
of all other modes of action, the ability to utter a
scream, or danger-cry, is retained ; and the next two
modes of meeting danger — yielding and flight — are
commonly accompanied by the danger-cry. All
animals that have voices have their danger-cry,
which is understood as a warning of danger, not
only by their fellows of the same community, if
they are social animals, but also by all animals of
the same species, and even generally, by all animals
within hearing. It appears that any sudden and
loud sound may be interpreted as a warning of
danger ; for on the report of a gun, the voice of
every bird in the neighbourhood is instantly stilled,
and an impressive silence follows. Be that as it
may, the value of the danger-cry, as a warning to
others, and as a social protection, is self-evident.
It warns all within hearing of the existence of
danger, and sets them on their guard against it.
Its value to individual social animals also is great,
for it acts as a rallying cry, and calls their fellows to
their aid. The squeal of an injured dog will bring
all the dogs of the neighbourhood around him. In
social animals, in short, the danger-cry is a cry for
help ; it is used mainly by the weaker members of
the community — by women and children — and is
often of great service in calling assistance.

2. Without producing the paralytic inhibition
described, which is an involuntary submission to

cH.vii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 103

the antagonist power, antagonism may produce a
voluntary submission, or yielding ; which is the
answer to an antagonism that is recognised as in-
superable, but yet is not of the overwhelming char-
acter that produces the paralytic inhibition.

3. The next mode of meeting danger is by flight ;
the natural resource of the weak, the timid, and the
fleet. It is a mode that is very often successful in
securing the safety of the refugee, and the first
impulse of most people, on occasions of personal
danger, especially when the danger is suddenly
appreciated, is to shrink and retreat from it. There
are few people whose ' nerve,' as it is called, is so
steady as not to shrink at the sudden appreciation
of danger ; few who do not start at a sudden un-
expected noise, or snatch away the hand when a
spark drops on it. Such startings and snatchings
are not themselves flight, but they are incipient
flight. They are movements that are the beginnings
of retreat from danger ; and would become full
retreat if they were continued. There are animals,
such as the hamster, that do not retreat from even
overwhelming odds, but such animals are few ; and
their conduct, though sometimes emulated, is not
often emulated by human beings. The hamster often
courts its own destruction ; and there are many
occasions of danger when retreat or flight is the
only practicable refuge.

In the foregoing cases, the antagonist agent is
deemed of such greatly superior power, that opposi-
tion is considered impracticable, and is not attempted ;
but in cases in which the estimate of the power of

104 CONDUCT

the antagonist falls short of this insuperability,
opposition is offered to it, and the opposition varies
considerably in character, from mere passive refusal
to co-operate, to active retaliation.

4. Opposition may be purely passive. It may
take the form of a mere refusal to assist the antagonist
in his design, without offering active opposition, or
placing difficulties in his way. Such passive opposi-
tion, as it is rarely effective, is rarely resorted to ; but
instances occur now and then. If my landlord tries to
eject me from his house, I may sit tight, and refuse to
budge, without actively opposing his wishes. If the
tax collector seeks to levy on me a tax that I consider
unjust, I may refuse to pay it, and leave him to
collect it by process of law. Such opposition is, for
the most part, futile, and is not frequent ; and more
active means must be pursued if the antagonist is to
be defeated. Of active opposition there are three
degrees, not always distinguishable in practice —
simple opposition, aggressive opposition, and counter-
attack.

5. By simple active opposition is meant action
directly opposite to the antagonistic action. If one
tries to pull me out of my chair, I cling to it ; if he
pushes me backward, I push forward ; if he brings an
action against me, I defend it ; if he levies money on
me, I not merely refuse to pay it, but assign my
goods to some one else, so as to deprive him of his
remedy ; and so forth.

6 and 7. Aggressive opposition and counter-attack
are further stages of the same process. If my
antagonist grasps me by the arm, and I merely un-

CH. VII SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 105

clasp his liand, tlie opposition is simple aod direct ; if
I hammer his haud to make him let go, it is aggres-
sive ; if I hit him on the nose, my action becomes
counter-attack. If he brings an action against me,
and I defend it, my opposition is simple and direct ;
if I make a counter-claim, it is aggressive ; if I accuse
him of fraud, I make a counter-attack.

In thus treating of the various ways of meeting
antagonism, we have travelled outside the subject
immediately under discussion — the ways of obviating
personal danger ; but since the modes of meeting
personal danger are applicable, mutatis mutandis, to
antagonism of all kinds, it is more convenient to
treat them together. We now return to the narrower
limit, and consider the disorders of the modes of
conduct, by which we meet circumstances that
threaten us with personal injury.

Defect of self-preservative conduct is frequent, and
is exhibited in several ways. The paralytic inhibition,
that is produced by danger from overwhelming
catastrophe, is often a form of defect, for there are
cases in which retreat would be easy were it not for
the deprivation of power to move.

Self-preservative conduct is often defective from
failure to appreciate the danger, even when this is
open and manifest. A young child, an idiot, or a
dement, may stray on to a railway line, or into the
traffic of the street, and fail, from lack of appreciation
of the danger that threatens him, to retreat from
approaching death. He may lie naked in winter,
with his blankets beside him, but without sufficient
intelligence to appreciate that, by pulling the blankets

106 CONDUCT

BOOK IX

over liim, he would protect himself against the cold.
Attracted by its brightness, he may seize a live coal,
without appreciating that it will burn him.

All defect is relative. It is a matter of degree ;
and, though such extreme instances as have just been
adduced are clearly morbid, there are all grades
between them and such defect as would be termed
want of foresight or imprudence ; and beyond these
again, there is a degree of precaution that no one would
be expected to take. It argues idiocy to pick up a
razor by grasping the blade ; it argues foolhardiness
to smoke in a powder magazine, or a fiery mine ; it
argues want of caution to skate upon ice whose
bearing power has not been tested ; but it is no reflec-
tion on intelligence, prudence, or foresight, to live in
a stone house, in a country that has not, in the
memory of man, been visited by an earthquake.

There are many instincts that may rise to an
intensity that overpowers that of self-preservation
when they come into conflict with it. Men and
women frequently incur danger, and even cheerfully
sacrifice their lives, for amatory passion ; sexual
jealousy ; chastity ; parental fondness ; fear of incur-
ring the contempt or disapprobation, or desire for
the admiration or approbation, of their fellows ; for
their religion ; and even to satisfy the instinct of
curiosity, and to attain the purpose of investigation.
But over and above all these more or less serious
purposes of life, men will incur danger, and rashly
undertake the most perilous risks, for the mere
purpose of recreation, that is, in order to give free
exercise to faculty. The attraction of mountain-

.H.vi, SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 107

climbing, of bull-fighting, of hunting of dangerous
beasts of prey, of exploring savage countries, of aerial
navigation, and so forth, is often said to consist in
the spice of danger that they entail ; but this is not
quite correct. The attraction for such pursuits,
which we call the spirit of adventure, is not in the
danger itself, but in the opportunity for the exercise
of faculty which the adventurer is conscious of
possessing, and which, therefore, he desires to exer-
cise. It is not the desire to be in danger, but the
desire of opportunity for the exercise of coolness,
presence of mind, steadiness, and resource, in the
presence of danger, that impels him into dangerous
pursuits. No doubt, in many cases, desire for
admiration and applause contribute to the result ;
and, in very many modes of conduct, more than one
motive operates to impel the actor ; but in the seeking
of unnecessary danger, the recreative motive takes a
large share.

Excessive solicitude to avoid personal danger is by
no means an infrequent trait of character. The timid
and the apprehensive take excessive precautions
against hypothetical dangers. This mode of conduct
approaches morbid excess in the valetudinarian, who
takes unnecessary precautions against disease that is
improbable ; and attains morbid excess in the hypo-
chondriac, whose conduct is absorbed in finding and
taking remedies, for diseases from which he does not
suffer. The victim of claustrophobia or agoraphobia
adapts his conduct to escape, not so much from
danger, for he knows that danger there is none ; but
from the unreasoning dread of danger. The one

108 CONDUCT

refuses to remain in a closed room, the other to cross
an open space, not because his intellect tells him
there is danger in either course, but because, in spite
of the assurance of his intellect, he quakes with un-
reasoning panic at the prospect. The occurrences of
claustrophobia and agoraphobia are so strange, that
they would be incredible if they were not so well
substantiated, and indeed so frequent ; but I think
they may be explained on biological grounds.

When our ancestors were arboreal in habit, this
habit w^as their salvation from extinction. Feeble in
body, destitute of weapons and of defensive armour,
devoid of means of concealment, neither swift nor
strong, their safety from carnivorous foes lay in the
agility wdth which they could climb out of reach, and
in the accuracy with which they could leap from
bough to bough, and from tree to tree. Whenever
they descended to the ground, they were in danger.
It is on the ground that the greater carnivora in the
Old World pursue their prey ; and, adapted as our
ancestors were, to arboreal life, their progress on the
ground was less rapid than among the tree-tops, and
less rapid than that of their principal foes. Among
the tree-tops they were secure. There, no enemy
could overtake them, or vie with them in activity ;
but on the ground they were, as they well knew, at
a disadvantage. On the Hat, they had no chance
against the spring of the panther, or the speed and
wind of the wolf; but once let them gain the security
of the tree-top, and they could grin and chatter with
derision at their helpless enemies below. The further
they ventured from their secure retreat, the greater

cH.vii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 109

their peril ; the nearer their refuge, the more complete
their security. Since instincts become adapted to
modes of life, which in turn they dictate, we may be
sure that, in the arboreal stage of their existence,
our ancestors had a very strong instinctive aversion
against any extended excursion from their place of
security and refuge. Near to trees, they were in
safety ; far from trees, they knew they were in
continual danger, and therefore were in continual
uneasiness. In such a situation, they had an abiding
and well founded dread of impending danger.

This is the state of mind which is reproduced, in
similar circumstances, in agoraphobia. The craving
of the subject of this malady is not, as usually
supposed, to be in a closed space ; but to be near
to some tall vertical object. Away from such an
object — in a wide open space — he has just the feeling
of dread, of impending danger, of imminent disaster,
of something dreadful about to happen, that a man
would have who was walking in a jungle infested
with tigers ; or a child has when alone in the dark.
And this is just such a feeling as our arboreal
ancestors must have had when they were out of
reach of their natural retreat. I have seen a woman,
affected with agoraphobia, get from one side of a
court to the other, by not only going round by the
wall, but by squeezing herself up against it, and
clutching at the bare surface. Sufferers from this
malady cannot cross an open space. They cannot
venture more than a step or two from some vertical
surface. They feel no uneasiness in a colonnade,
open all around them though it is. Their reason tells

110 CONDUCT BOOK II

them that their dread is groundless ; but reason is
powerless against instinct, and an imperious instinct
shouts danger in their ears.

The opposite malady — claustrophobia — seems to
me to reproduce a state of affairs of much later
occurrence in our racial history. When arboreal
habits at length began to be abandoned, and our
anthropoid ancestors began to shelter themselves in
hollow trees, in caves, and holes in the ground, there
must often have been a conflict between the inveterate
primitive habit of roosting under the open sky, and
the modern innovation of taking shelter from the
weather. The sense of confinement must often have
been very irksome. We may be sure there was no
sudden revolution in the mode of life. The new habit
was adopted very gradually. Only in some very
violent storm would the first in-dwellers creep into
a hole for shelter ; and they would soon find their
circumscribed quarters intolerable, and brave the
elements as soon as the weather began to moderate.
Perhaps the new instinct was first implanted in the
young, by the parents bestowing their tender offspring
in holes during their own absence, or when cold and
rain became severe. In any case, we may be sure
that the habit of taking refuge in more or less closed
spaces, was a habit of slow and gradual acquirement ;
and we may be sure that it was not acquired without
many a relapse, and much ibacksliding. The very
fact that our ancestors, in their arboreal stage, were
timid, and that in a closed space their retreat was
cut off, must have given them, in such retreats, a
feeling of uneasiness, that was always liable to rise

CH. VII SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 111

into panic, and lead to an irresistible desire to get
out into the open. This is the state of mind that is
reproduced in claustrophobia. In a confined space,
the victims of this malady suffer from uneasiness that
often reaches actual panic, and impels them to get
out, or to provide means of egress by opening a
window or a door. Like the sufferer from agora-
phobia, the claustrophobe experiences the revival of
an instinct that has been dormant for untold genera-
tions, but that has subsided more recently than that
revived in agoraphobia. Since it survived to a later
date, since it has been more recently lost, it is more
easily revived ; and this is the reason, in my opinion,
that claustrophobia is so much less rare than
agoraphobia.

Perversion of self-preservative conduct is not often
seen. It is, indeed, frequent enough for this instinct
to lead, as in the food-faddist, and the self-drugger, to
conduct that defeats the very instinct by which it is
prompted ; but this adverse effect is not known to
those who pursue the conduct, and comes, therefore,
into the category of mere mistake.

Lastly, a very frequent disorder of conduct is
prompted by what appears to be the reversal of this
instinct. The desire to avoid injury, to preserve a
whole skin, and prevent mutilation and injury, is
often replaced by the contradictory desire, directed
towards self-injury, self-mutilation, and suicide. The
motives behind these acts are various. Self-mutilation,
and self-injury that is intended to stop short at self-
injury, and is not a mere abortive attempt at suicide,
are usually prompted by a hyper-conscientious desire

112 CONDUCT

to suffer punishment for real or fancied sin ; but in
some cases, it lias been carried out with a view to
escape other evils that are regarded as more serious.
Conscripts, for instance, have been known to mutilate
themselves, in order to escape service in the army.

Conduct that is actually suicidal, may be prompted
by very various motives, of which the most frequent,
in the sane, is the loss of what is, at the time, the
chief aim of life. When an adolescent has been
brought up to believe that the passing of an
examination is the sole portal to success in life ;
when the passing of the examination has been long
before him as the main, almost the exclusive, aim of
his existence ; the failure to pass the examination
not infrequently leads to suicide, or suicidal attempt.
A shockingly large proportion of the German youths
who fail to take their degrees, commit or attempt
suicide ; and such acts are not unknown in this
country, where, however, the acknowledgment that
the passing of academic examinations is not the
be-all and end-all of existence, is a great safeguard
against self-destruction. The equal or superior place
that is taken by athletics in the curricula of our
Universities, has at least this good effect. It
provides a second, an alternative, and a very different
standard of achievement and aim in life. Failure to
attain academic distinction does not shut the door
against success of every kind. The importance
attached to the passing of examinations is, in this
country, great ; it is perhaps a good deal exaggerated ;
but it is not paramount ; and the despair that is pro-
duced by failure is consequently not nearly so serious.

cH.vii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 113

Whatever aim is allowed to absorb the whole
attention, the whole craving, the whole aspiration
of a person, its withdrawal and relegation to utter
impossibility may, and often does, prompt to suicide.
This is the motive of the suicide of the girl whose
lover has deserted her ; of the business man who is
irretrievably ruined ; of the mother whose child is
dead. The last case is rare, and in the second, other
motives usually contribute ; but in both cases, the
single motive under consideration is sometimes
sufficient. There are cases in which the death of
a relative, who has been the object of absorbing
affection, has prompted to suicide ; and, as we should
expect, these cases are usually those in which not
only the affection, but all the attention and exertion
of the survivor, have been lavished on the lost —
cases in which a daughter has been absorbed in
nursing a mother, or, more rarely, a wife in nursing
her husband.

Next to the loss of the main aim in life, loss of
the means of subsistence is the most frequent motive
to suicide in the sane. The cases are, perhaps, not
wholly distinguishable, for loss of the means of
subsistence carries with it loss of the means of
attaining most of the aims of life. To the selfish
man it means loss of self-indulgence ; to the sympa-
thetic it means loss of the means of making others
happy ; to all it means loss of power, loss of success,
consciousness of failure in one, at least, of the great
aims of life.

In the insane, in whom the prompting to suicide
is so frequent, the motive is often different from the

114 CONDUCT

BOOK II

motive in the sane. In the insane, the motive is
usually the motive of self-sacrifice. It is based upon
the conviction of unworthiness, and sin, and self-
abasement. The insane suicide kills himself, not
usually because he believes, rightly or wrongly, that
the main object of life is taken from him, and is
become unattainable ; but because he is convinced
that he is not fit to live. He has committed an
unpardonable sin. His life is a curse to all he loves
— to all around him — perhaps to all his countrymen,
or to the world at large. He must die in order to
free the world from the calamity of his influence and
his presence. The law stigmatises his act as a
crime, but it is in fact due to a morbid excess of
conscientiousness. In other cases, the motive of the
insane suicide seems to be the desire to escape from
a feeling of misery that is become unbearable.

Conduct of the directly self-conservative kind is
that which is earliest acquired by each individual.
It is wanting in very young children, and this want
is the reason why it is unsafe to leave very young
children alone to their own devices. If a person
fails to acquire these modes of conduct, as he ad-
vances to years at which they are ordinarily acquired,
such a person is called an Idiot ; and the mark and
characteristic of Idiocy is the absence of these modes
of conduct, or any of them, at the age at which they
would ordinarily come into being.

CHAPTER VIII

INDIRECTLY SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT

Under this head is included that conduct by which
the means are administered and the livelihood is
gained ; and the administration of means is placed
before the earning of the livelihood, for two reasons.
In the first place, there are many persons in civilised
societies who do not need to earn their livelihood ;
but there are none, above the grade of Imbeciles, who
have not, at some time or other, means to administer ;
and in the second, the administration of the means
appears to be, upon the whole, of easier and earlier
acquirement, and of later disappearance, in regular
dissolution, than the earning of the livelihood.

The due and proper administration of means
requires, in the first place, that a proper proportion
should be observed between income and expenditure ;
and in the second, that a proper proportion should
be observed among the various objects of expenditure.

Expenditure may be in excess or in defect; the
former disorder being prodigality, the latter miserli-
ness. Prodigality is, for the most part, a relative
term. That expenditure which would be prodigal
for an income of £500 a year, would not necessarily

115

116 CONDUCT

be prodigal for an income of £5000 ; and that which
would be prodigal for an income of £5000, would not
necessarily be prodigal for an income of £50,000.
In estimating the prodigality or otherwise of ex-
penditure on desirable objects, regard must, of
course, be had to the income out of which the
expenditure comes ; but there is a prodigality in
kind as well as in degree ; and there is an absolute
prodigality — a prodigality which would be excessive
to any income, however large.

Relative prodigality also is of two kinds. There
is prodigality, ordinarily so termed ; by which is
meant expenditure that is excessive in proportion
to the income of the prodigal. But expenditure
may be regarded as relatively prodigal, even when
it is not excessive in proportion to income, if it is
excessive in proportion to the gratification purchased
by it. A man whose income is, say, £5000 a year,
would not be regarded as prodigal, because he pur-
chased a motor car for £1000 ; but if he gave £1000
for a racing car which he could not use, and which
he offered, the day after purchase, to sell for £500,
he might well be regarded as prodigal in this ex-
penditure. Master Primrose, in purchasing, for the
price of a horse, his gross of spectacles in shagreen
cases, was prodigal in both senses. He purchased
that which he could not afford, and he gave for the
articles a price out of all proportion too great for
the gratification that he derived from them. Whether
the racing car that my patient bought was intrinsic-
ally worth the money — whether, that is to say, it
cost £1000 to l)uild and equip and sell — or whether

cH.vm SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 117

the gross of spectacles in shagreen cases were worth,
to a person trading in spectacles, the price that
Moses Primrose gave for them, is beside the question.
They may each have cost more to make than the
price for which they were purchased ; but this does
not make the purchase any the less prodigal for that
particular purchaser. For a racing motor-man, of
the same means, the racing car might have been a
prudent purchase. For the dealer in spectacles, the
gross of those conveniences might have been a
prudent purchase, at the price paid; but for the
actual purchaser in each case, the purchase was
prodigal, because of the utter want of proportion
between the price paid, and the amount of gratifica-
tion gained by the payment.

By absolute prodigality I mean a proposal of
expenditure that would be excessive for any income,
however large, — proposals that stamp the proposer as
insane, without any need to inquire into the amount
of his income. When a man proposes to purchase
battleships by millions, or to pave all the streets of
London seventeen feet thick with diamonds, we may
safely regard the proposal as absolutely prodigal,
without considering the amount of his income.

Prodigality, like other defects of conduct, may
rest on lack of intelligence. A person may spend
more than his income from sheer lack of intelliofence
to appreciate that he is spending disproportionately —
from lack of the arithmetical faculty. This, however,
is not frequent. Persons as defective as this, if they
are poor, are deprived by opportunity of spending or
incurring debts beyond their means. If well-to-do,

118 CONDUCT

BOOK II

their defect has been appreciated in good time, and
they have been made wards of Court. Ordinarily,
the defect is a moral defect. It lies in the lack of
will to forgo the immediate enjoyment of spending,
even at the cost — the inevitable and foreseen cost — of
future embarrassment. A certain lack of intelligence
there may be ; or rather, a certain wilful ignoring of
the consequences, and shutting of the eyes to them ;
a certain lack of appreciation that the inevitable is
inevitable. But the main defect is the lack of moral
stamina — of self-restraint — of that ability to postpone
immediate gratification, that has been so much
insisted on in a previous chapter.

Meanness, miserliness, or excessive parsimony, is
the complementary failure in conduct. It is the
failure to spend a due proportion of income. What
proportion of his income it is right and prudent for
a person to spend, depends on a number of considera-
tions that need not be entered upon here. It
depends very much upon the source from whence his
income is derived ; upon whether it is fixed or
precarious ; upon whether it depends on his own
exertions or is independent of them ; upon its total
amount ; upon the degree of comfort, and the
amenities of life, proper to his station, and customary
among his fellows. But whatever the source of his
income, and whatever its security or want of security,
there is a degree of parsimony that transcends the
normal. If a man is in such penury that he has
difficulty in procuring the bare necessaries of life, it
is undue parsimony to deny himself these necessaries,
to the impairment of his health and earning power,

cH.vni SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 119

so Ions as his means can afford them. But in such
cases we are not often called upon to adjudicate.
The cases in which parsimony is clearly excessive,
and runs into miserliness, are those in which a
person's income or possessions are ample, and yet he
denies himself the ordinary necessaries and amenities
of life. Such cases as those of John Elwes and
Daniel Dancer exhibit the passionate clinging to
possession, pushed to the point of positive insanity.
A man who is of ample means, and yet grudges and
refuses the expenditure necessary to keep him in
decent food and decent raiment ; who obtains his
food from the pig pail and his clothes from the scare-
crow ; who goes filthy in his person because he cannot
face expenditure for soap ; and filthy in his sur-
roundings because he grudges the expense both of
implements and labour ; such a man exhibits conduct
that is clearly disorderly by reason of excess of
parsimony, or miserliness. Still more, perhaps, does
he exhibit it when he allows his houses to stand
empty, and to fall into ruin, because he cannot bear
to part with the money necessary to keep them in
repair.

Such cases are cases of miserliness. Meanness is
not quite the same thing. The mean man will spend,
grudgingly it may be, and with pain, perhaps, but he
will spend money on himself, sufiicient to satisfy the
standard of his time and his condition in life. The
expenditure that he cannot or will not face, is
expenditure on others, or what approximates to the
same thing, bearing his fair share of common ex-
penditure.

120 CONDUCT

Quite distinct from the disinclination to spend,
although allied to it, usually accompanying it, and
often confused with it, is the desire to accumulate.
They are different sides of the same thing, no doubt,
but they are different sides. Accumulation cannot
proceed without caution in expenditure ; but when
the aversion from expenditure is pushed to the point
in which it existed in John Elwes, so that he let his
houses fall into ruin and be unoccupied, from want of
the necessary expenditure to keep them in repair, it
is clear that this aversion becomes actually antagon-
istic to accumulation. Of the two, the instinct of
accumulation is by far the more primitive and funda-
mental, and is, in most cases, the stronger ; the dis-
inclination to spend being merely subsidiary to it.

The storing up, in times of plenty, of pabulum for
future use in time of scarcity, is a very firmly fixed
habit, an instinctive mode of action which exhibits
its remoteness of origin, and its primitive nature,
not only in its universality in the human race, but
in the fact that man shares it with many of the lower
animals. It is found, not only in his congeners, the
apes, in the dog, the squirrel, the beaver, the rat,
and other mammals, but also in the spider, the bee,
the ant, and many other insects. In man, it appears
at a very early stage of development, both in the
race and in the individual. No savage is so destitute
of it as not to put aside for to-morrow the remains
of the animal that he has killed, but cannot wholly
consume, to-day ; and there are few tribes of savages
that have not methods, more or less elaborate, of
preserving meat for future use. In these humble

OH. VIII SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 121

beginnings we see the origin of Capital — of that
mighty power that covers the land with roads and
railways, and the sea with ships ; that raises buildings
hundreds of feet into the air, and sinks mines
thousands of feet below ground ; that severs
continents by canals, and unites them by cables ;
that renders possible the discoveries of the scientist,
the speculations of the philosopher, and the rapt
meditations of the divine.

It is rare to find this instinct defective ; but such
cases are found. Charles Lamb has described with
inimitable whimsicality the character of one of the
Great Race. ' Early in life he found himself invested
with ample revenues ; which ... he took almost
immediate measures entirely to dissipate and bring to
nothing. ... It was a wonder how he contrived to
keep his treasury always empty. He did it by force
of an aphorism which he had often in his mouth, that
" money kept more than three days, stinks." '

The main interest that the instinct of accumula-
tion has for the student of conduct, is in its various
transfers. Originally applied by man, no doubt, as
it still is by some of the lower animals, solely to food,
it is now, both in man and in some of the lower
animals, applied to things other than food. The
magpie and the jackdaw collect glittering as well as
other uneatable things ; the bower-bird collects things
of bright colour ; the rat collects all kinds of things ;
and man collects almost everything that is movable.
He begins in childhood, with horse-chestnuts and
birds' eggs ; and from this rudiment his habit grows,
until his collections include everything that can be

122 CONDUCT

ROOK II

collected. He collects animals, alive and dead, and
all their products and belongings, from fossil bones
to fresh-water shells, and infusoria skeletons. He
collects plants from every country under heaven, and
all their products. He collects minerals, and all the
products, not only of nature, but of man himself.
He collects everything written or printed, from
illuminated manuscripts and rare editions, to postage
stamps, book - plates, and autographs. He collects
the shoes, fans, and snuff-boxes of the living, and the
sarcophagi of the dead ; nay, even the mummies
themselves.

Many of the collections are made, not solely for
the mere sake of collecting, but for the educational
value, or interest, or beauty, of the things collected ;
but many things are collected, as the boy collects
horse-chestnuts and birds' eggs, merely to satisfy the
instinct of accumulating ; and the degradation of
this instinct is seen in the very common habit of
the insane, of collecting all kinds of heterogeneous
and useless rubbish. When their pockets are turned
out, as they must be every night, they are found to
be stuffed with collections of useless and incongruous
fragments : — torn newspapers, bits of bread, stones,
leaves, sticks, bits of string, a spoon or a fork perhaps,
corks, buttons, odd playing cards, and what not.

Not infrequently, the instinct of collecting is
powerful enough to break down the restraint of
morality, in persons who are punctiliously honest
with respect to other things, not included in their
passion for collecting. The bibliophile, who is honest
enough in all other relations of life, does not always

cH.viii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 123

return the volume he has borrowed ; and cases
become known, from time to time, in which the first
theft discovered leads to investigation, and reveals
a collection of large numbers of similar articles, all
accumulated ]jy the same dishonest means. Quantities
of eyeglasses, of fans, of opera-glasses, of stockings, or
of some other article, are found to have been collected,
far beyond any requirement of usefulness, profit,
or beauty. They have never been used, and it is
evident that beyond a single one, or two, or three, of
them, they could be of no use to the collector. No
attempt to dispose of them has been made. They
have been stolen, not for profit, nor for the money
that could be made out of them, but solely to satisfy
the passion of collecting, which happens to have
been concentrated upon this or that particular class
of thing.

One more mode of action falls to be considered
under the head of administration of means ; and this
is the defence and retention of property. This instinct
also is shared by man with some of the lower animals ;
and, if we include under property, as we legitimately
may do, and should do, all that is, or is deemed to
be, appropriated by the proprietor to his ow^n use,
then man shares the instinct with a very large pro-
portion of the lower animals. It has long been known
that each gang of dogs in Constantinople has its own
well defined district, into which no dog of another
gang may encroach, on pain of instant assault,
pursued even to the death ; but it is only of late
years discovered that every pair of robins in a garden
is similarly jealous of the integrity of its own district,

124 CONDUCT

and will immediately assault, and endeavour to drive
away, an intruder. Long before the term was in-
vented by man, every robin defended the exclusive
user of his own petty district, against all comers in
the sliape of other robins. Similarly, every bird has
property in its own nest ; and, though its appropriation
and defence of its own eggs and young, belong more
to the parental than the property instinct, there is
much in common between the two. Every social
bee and ant defends its own hive or nest, even to the
death, against foreign intruders. It has a sense of
property in its home. Dogs have the instinct strongly
developed, and apply it, not only to places, but to
specific articles, thus sharing with man the instinct of
property usually so called. A dog needs no teaching
or training to guard his master's coat, or his own
bone, against all comers. He has the instinct already
inherent in him.

The instinct of defending one's own property is
little subject to disorder. It is not necessarily
accompanied by a proportionate respect for the
property of others, and genuine mistakes and con-
fusion as to the rightful owner of specific property
are not rare. When, however, doctrinaires deny the
existence of property, they run foul of an instinct of
very remote origin, of great potency, and of very
wide prevalence, not only in the human race, but in
a very large proportion of the lower animals also.
Such instincts are not easy to overcome.

The second department of indirectly self- con-
servative action is the earning of the livelihood. It
would manifestly be foreign to the purpose of this

cH.viii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 125

book to consider, or even enumerate, the difierent
ways in which men and women earn their livelihood,
even if it were practicable to do so, but certain ways
in which this mode of conduct fails, must be set
forth.

If a person is to earn his living, he must be able
and willing to perform services, for which others are
able and willing to pay ; and thus there are four
sources of failure. He may not be able to perform
such services, or he may be unwilling to do so ; others
may be unable to pay for his services, or they
may be unwilling to do so. The whole affair lies in
this nutshell.

The ability of others to pay for the services of any
person, is a matter that need not be pursued here.
It lies at the base of the whole problem of unemploy-
ment, and is in the department of the political
economist ; but their willingness to pay depends
upon whether the services of the person concerned
are sufficiently desired, to make others think it
worth while to make the purchase ; and this resolves
itself into what the person, desiring to earn his living,
is able and willing to offer. If his services are such
as no one is willing to purchase, it is because they
are in some way defective. They have not a sufficient
value to tempt a purchaser, and this want of value is
usually due to one of two causes. The services that
he offers are either lacking in quality, or they are
lacking in quantity.

There is a large class of persons whose services are
so deficient in quality that they find no purchaser, or
no continuous market. Such persons are neither

126 CONDUCT

BOOK II

incapable of labour, nor unwilling to labour, but
their labour has no market value ; because they
cannot apply it successfully without so much super-
vision, as renders it more costly than it is worth.
They require constant supervision to prevent them
from spoiling their job. If such a man is set to dig
a hole, he will dig it in the wrong place, or too wide,
or too deej), or not wide or deep enough, or too
irregular in shape. If he is set to weed, he will tear
up weeds and valuable plants indiscriminately. If he
is set to gather rubbish, he will gather everything that
is movable that he finds in the place. If he is sent
with a message, he delivers it wrong, or to the wrong
person, or he forgets it altogether. He is incapable
of any but very simple occupation ; and even this
he cannot perform correctly. Such persons are above
the grade of idiots, for they are capable of acquiring,
and do acquire, the modes of action of the directly
self-conservative class. They can be trusted in the
street without fear that they will be run over, or lose
their way ; they can be trusted to shave themselves
without gashing their fingers ; to clothe themselves
appropriately ; and to keep themselves moderately
clean. But the earning of the living requires a higher
grade of intelligence than they possess. Capable of
crude acts only, they cannot attain to the elaborate-
ness of action necessary to give their services a
market value. Such persons are technically called
imbeciles ; and the defect which prevents them from
earning their livelihood, is an intellectual defect.

But the services that a person can render may be
ample in quality, but may be deficient in quantity,

cH.viii SELF-CONSERVATIVE CONDUCT 127

or, what is equally important, in regularity. They
may rise to a high degree of elaboration, skill, and
originality, but they always have the character of
play ; they never attain to the dignity of work. The
only action of which these persons are capable, or at
any rate, which alone they undertake, is that of play.
They are often of an active and bustling disposition,
and then they are always busy, and utterly devoid of
industry. For by industry we mean steady per-
sistence in an occupation, in spite of monotony and
distastefulness. We mean an employment followed,
at the cost of present gratification, for the sake of
the future advantage to be derived from it. Of
such self-sacrifice, the persons under consideration are
incapable. They follow their occupation with eager-
ness, as long as it is pleasurable ; but as soon as they
tire of it, they give it up. Services so rendered have
little or no commercial value. Service, however
skilled, however accurate, however original, is of
little value if it cannot be relied on ; and the man
that attends his business only when he feels inclined
to do so, soon ceases to have any business to attend.
Or the quantity and regularity of a man's services
may be impaired by illness, and in that case he is
handicapped in earning his livelihood ; but this is a
matter in which the defect of conduct is involuntary,
and does not enter into our consideration.

CHAPTER IX

SOCIAL CONDUCT

Of all departments of conduct, that which has
relation to the social state ; which is evoked by the
existence, presence, demeanour, and action of our
fellows ; which regulates our relations to our fellows,
and to the community at large ; is the most extensive,
and comprises the most numerous and diverse modes
of action. The conduct of every member of a
community is profoundly modified by his membership
of the community ; and, as with other departments
of conduct, social conduct is in part elicited, in part
spontaneous. Elicited social conduct consists of those
modes of action or inaction that are produced in us
by the existence, presence, demeanour, action and
inaction, actual or anticipated, of our fellows ; in
short, by the attitude that others adopt towards us.
Spontaneous social conduct is that by which we
seek, mero motu, to express our attitude towards the
community as a whole, towards sections or classes of
the community, or towards the individual members
of it with whom we come into relation. In the first
section, of elicited social conduct, we must consider the
following influences ; remembering that we consider

128

SOCIAL CONDUCT 129

not only the actual, but the anticipated attitude of
others towards us.

I. Elicited Social Conduct

A. Influence on conduct of the Existence of others.

The Social Instinct.

B. Influence on conduct of the Presence of others.

Social Inhibition.

C. Influence on conduct of the Attention of others.

Self-conscious conduct : Shyness.

D. Influence on conduct of the Esteem of others.

Pride : Vanity : Ambition.

E. Influence on conduct of the Approval of others.

Elicited Morality.

F. Influence on conduct of the Liking of others.

Suavity.

G. Influence on conduct of the Will of others.

Subordination and Leading.
H. Influence on conduct of the Example of others.
Custom and Fashion.
I. Influence on conduct of the Action of others ;

1. On ourselves.

2. On others.

3. On circumstances.

II. Spontaneous Social Conduct

K. Conduct towards the whole community.

Patriotic and Treasonable conduct.
L. Conduct towards sections and classes.

Philanthropy and Misanthropy.
M. Conduct towards individuals.

Beneficence and Maleficence.

K

130 CONDUCT BOOK II

A. INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE MERE EXISTENCE
OF OTHERS

This is the Social Instinct. The mere existence of
others evokes in us the instinctive desire to associate
with them, to rub shoulders with them, to be of
them, and amongst them. Man is a social animal ;
and his custom of living in communities, continued, as
it has been, for untold ages, has resulted in, and
resulted from, an urgent and deep-seated desire for
the companionship of his fellows, which is now
become one of the dominant motives of human con-
duct. Prolonged privation of the companionship of
his fellows is intolerable to every man — to all social
animals. It is well known to all keepers and breeders
of stock, that no social animal will thrive in solitude.
It is known to every farmer, that a cow or a horse
kept alone, will surmount or break down the most
formidable obstacles, to get into the society of its
fellows. The lonely shepherds of Australia, and the
lonely hunters of the backwoods, find, after a time,
the craving for companionship reach an extreme of
tension that demands satisfaction, at any sacrifice of
privation and exertion. Solitary confinement, if
sufficiently prolonged, results inevitably in madness.
The companionship of his kind is as necessary to the
mental health of man, as food is necessary to his
bodily health. The deprivation of either, if pro-
longed sufficiently, is destructive. And this is not
quite all. Every man requires companionship, and
not the mere companionship of human beings, but the
companionship of men and women approximately of

SOCIAL CONDUCT 131

his own social state and race, of feelings, tastes, habits,
customs, prejudices even, similar to his own. In the
presence of other human beings he may, indeed,
preserve his sanity, but unless these other human
beings, or some of them, are in sympathy with him
in the matters recorded, he is not at ease ; he is not
fully satisfied ; he does not take the full delight of
complete companionship ; he suffers, less indeed than
the solitary, but to some extent he still suffers, from
starvation of the soul.

There are people in whom the instinct of com-
panionship is defective ; others in whom it is present
in excess. In many of the insane, the defect of this
mode of conduct is but one instance and example
of a universal defect of conduct and of mind. They
sit all day, holding no communication with their
fellows, and taking no notice of them. If left alone,
they would stay alone indefinitely, not merely be-
cause the instinct of companionship is wanting, but
because all initiative, that of the social instinct among
the rest, is wanting. They are too destitute of mind
to possess the social instinct. It is gone in the
general wreck.

Whether the monks of the Thebaid, and the her-
mits of the Middle Ages, adopted their mode of life
from abhorrence of the society of their fellow-men,
or even from defect of the social instinct, is to be
doubted. Such seeking of solitude must be held,
in the best cases, a mode of self-sacrifice and mortifi-
cation, such as all religions have countenanced, and
many have inculcated. In many cases, the retreat
from social life was due to less worthy motives — to

132 CONDUCT book h

laziness, and a desire to shirk the burdens that social
life imposes.

Whether the character of Timon, as traditionally
depicted, is true to fact, is doubtful ; but if it is so,
it is an instance of the reversal of the social instinct.
Fiction presents us with other instances, such as the
Black Dwarf; but in actual experience they are, at
least, very rare in the sane, pace the French philoso-
pher, who declared that the more he saw of human
beings, the more he loved dogs. In the insane, such
characters are not very infrequent. There are some
insane persons who are contented only when they are
by themselves. In the company of others they are
noisy, aggressive, turbulent, uneasy ; wretched them-
selves, and a nuisance to others. Alone, they are
tranquil, and they often beg to be placed in solitude.
They seem not to desire, but rather to resent and
dislike, the presence of others.

On the other hand, there are those, both sane and
insane, who exhibit the social instinct in disorderly
excess. No healthy-minded person desires to be never
alone ; every person of normal susceptibility feels and
knows when his society is desired, and when it is not ;
but there are people whose craving for the society of
others is so inordinate, that they are uneasy if they
are ever alone, and they do not appear to recognise
that other people are differently constituted. Kather
than be alone, such a person will seek the society of
those who plainly don't want him ; but his vanity
prevents him from recognising their reluctance. He
will thrust himself upon a pair of lovers, and com-
placently believe they are grateful for his efforts to

CHAP. IX SOCIAL CONDUCT 133

entertain them. He will intrude between a man and
his solicitor, between a woman and her doctor, and
benevolently add his advice. He will intervene
between bargainers, and offer his arbitration. He
is not only himself the subject of an inordinate
craving for the society of others, but he credits
them with an equal eagerness for his own.

Some degree of perversion, or at least degradation,
of social conduct, is seen in those who habitually seek
the society of their social inferiors, to the exclusion
of that of their social equals. We sometimes see a
cultured and educated man join a gang of gipsies,
or even marry into a tribe of savages. More often,
we witness temporary lapses, usually, but not always,
connected with drunkenness, or with sexual irregular-
ities, into the companionship of criminals, tramps, or
other depraved characters.

B. INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE PRESENCE OF
OTHERS

Social Inhibition

The existence of every aggregate depends upon the
limitation of the motion of the constituent parts com-
posing the aggregate. When a blacksmith desires to
divide an iron bar, he heats it until it softens, and
then he finds the division easy. When a housekeeper
desires to increase the cohesion of her pats of butter,
she puts them on ice, and finds that by doing so she
secures a more coherent aggregate. In dividing the
iron bar, the smith is so far destroying the integration
of the aggregate of atoms composing the bar, as to

134 CONDUCT

divide it into two smaller aggregates, and he finds
this operation facilitated by heating the bar, that is to
say, by increasing the independent movement of each
individual atom entering into the constitution of the
aggregate. When the housekeeper hardens her butter
by cooling it, she takes an aggregate which is break-
ing down, and resolving into incoherent particles, and,
by decreasing the independent movement of each par-
ticle, she binds it into a coherent aggregate. What
is true of these simple inorganic aggregates, is true
of organic aggregates. In every case in which an
aggregate is formed, the aggregation implies, involves,
and requires a surrender of some freedom of action on
the part of the individual components of the aggre-
gate. If some members of a flock, or a herd, or a
shoal, or a flight, move in a direction, or at a rate,
difterent from that of the other members ; the herd,
or the flock, or the shoal, will be disintegrated by
the loss of those members who thus move indepen-
dently ; and if all moved at difterent rates, or in
difterent directions, the ftock or herd would cease
to exist. It would be disintegrated^ altogether into
its individual components. A certain surrender of
individual freedom of action is necessary to the
existence of the gregarious state. On no other terms
can a community exist.

The solitary bee makes its cell in cylindrical or
somewhat oval form. The gregarious bee, crowded
on every side by its fellows, makes a cell, the
cylindrical form of which is modified by the proximity
of those fellows. Where the activity of its neighbour
meets, and tends to encroach on its own activity ;

SOCIAL CONDUCT 135

where its own activity meets, and tends to encroacli
upon the activity of the others ; where the cyhnders
would, if completed, encroach on one another ; there
the activity of all is checked. Since both cylinders
cannot encroach at the same place on each other ; and
since the encroachment of either would unduly limit
the activity of the neighbouring constructor, a com-
promise is made ; a bargain is struck ; via media
is found. Since neither cylinder may encroach on the
other, the only possible alternative is found, and a
flat partition is built up between the two. Each bee
so limits the extent of her own construction, as to
leave her neighbours a range precisely equal to her own.
The result is a structure far better adapted to the
purpose of the community, than if each bee had had
full liberty, and had built a cylindrical cell of her
own. Time, labour, and material are economised ;
strength and capacity are gained. This typical
instance will illustrate the prime condition of social
life — first, the necessary surrender, on the part of
each individual, of some part of the sphere — in this
case the cylinder — of individual action ; and second,
the great advantage that this surrender of individual
freedom secures to the community.

From this example, we learn the fundamental
truth, that the influence of the community upon
each of its members is primarily inhibitory. The
condition of living in a community is the surrender
of some of the freedom of individual action ; and
correspondingly, the efl'ect on the individual of the
presence of his fellows, is an inhibitory eflect. It
limits his action.

136 CONDUCT book n

Thus we arrive at the first of the influences that
society exercises upon the individuals that compose
it. The first effect that is produced on each by the
others, is produced by their mere presence ; and this
effect is inhibitory in character. In the presence of
others we do not, and cannot, behave precisely as
we do when we are alone. We speak of children, in
the presence of any of their elders of whom they are
in awe, being ' on their best behaviour ' ; and every
one, in the presence of any one else, is to a certain
extent on good behaviour. He does not do things
that he does when alone. He does not to the same
extent abandon himself to his own comfort and con-
venience. He feels that something is due to his
socius ; and the more unfamiliar the person in whose
presence he is, the greater is this inhibitory effect.
There are some acts that cannot be done, or can be
done only with more or less difficulty, in the presence
of others. The more people that are present, the
greater the inhibitory effect of their presence ; and
the stranger they are, the more is this effect en-
hanced. No one eats a meal in the presence of others
in precisely the same way that he would eat it in
solitude. This inhibitory effect is produced by the
mere presence of others. It is not necessary to the
inhibition that they should observe the actor.

In nothing is the inhibitory effect of the presence
of others more manifest, than in the difference
between oral expression and written expression.
When the inhibitory and restraining influence of
the actual presence of others is absent, freedom of
expression becomes possible, that is quite out of the

CHAP. IX SOCIAL CONDUCT 137

question when face to face with the interlocutor ; and
this holds true whether the communication that is
to be made, is antagonistic or the reverse. Many a
bashful man finds it impossible to declare his affection
when face to face with his beloved, but manages to
pour out his feelings on paper with little difficulty.
Smarting under a sense of injury, he determines to
seek out his adversary, with the intention of giving
him a piece of his mind ; but when he comes into
actual presence of that adversary, the matter somehow
takes on a different complexion. The strong language
that he intended to use, and that expressed his feeling
so aptly, now appears inappropriate. The interview
takes a different tone from that which he intended
and expected. But if, instead of seeking an interview
with his opponent, he sits down to express his feel-
ings in writing, he will be apt, in the absence of the
restraint imposed by the personal presence of the
other, to express himself with a vigour which is
subsequently a source of wonder to him.

The extraordinary want of reticence that is dis-
played by some diarists, is another illustration of the
influence, or rather of the absence of the influence,
under consideration. The astounding revelations of
some diarists, of whom Pepys is the type and example,
are possible on paper only. No man could make them
in the presence of any one else ; and the occasional
revelations, in Courts of Justice, of diaries and letters,
are such as would be impossible in open speech.

The inhibitory effect of the presence of others, and
especially of the presence of strangers, is as con-
spicuous in disordered as in ordered conduct — in the

138 CONDUCT book h

iusane as in tlie sane. Thus, it often happens that
the physician, or the magistrate, who is a stranger
to the lunatic, fails to observe any sign of insanity,
because before him no sign of insanity is displayed.
The presence of the stranger inhibits the disorderly,
no less than the orderly, conduct; and the lunatic, who
displays abundant disorder to his own family, or his
accustomed physician, is passed as sane by those
who are strangers to him. Similarly, many insane
persons exhibit their insanity only, or most con-
spicuously, in their writings ; and nothing is more
remarkable than the profound insanity of the
writings of some insane persons, who are quite sane
enough in conversation to pass muster.

The eflfect on conduct of the mere presence of
others, does not appear, as the effect of their atten-
tion does, to diminish with advancing age, or with
use. It varies, no doubt, in different persons ; but
its variations appear to depend, not so much on use,
as on idiosyncrasy. It is, I suppose, never com-
pletely absent ; and rarely attains such excess as to
be a serious inconvenience. There is a kind of
spurious reversal, which will be considered in the
next section, in which the presence of others appears
rather to stimulate than to inhibit, but this is an
effect, not of the presence, so much as of the attention
of others.

CHAPTER X

C. INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE ATTENTION
OF OTHERS

Shyness : Self-consciousness

If the effect of the mere presence of others upon
conduct, is thus conspicuous and powerful, more effect
may be expected from the direction of their attention.
What is easier than to walk across the room or the
road ? No one who wishes to get to the other side,
thinks twice how he shall walk across, pays any
attention to the mode in which he does it, or finds
any difficulty in holding himself, or moving his
limbs. But let the open space be the stage of a
crowded theatre, how now ? The very fact that
scores or hundreds of people are looking at him, and
attending to what he does, has a profound effect
upon the way in which a man walks across the
stage. Now he must himself pay attention to his
own movements, and we have seen (p. 57) that the
effect of attending to automatic movements, like
those of walking, is to impair their efficiency. One's
legs seem no longer one's own. The ease and auto-
maticity of their action are gone. Their movements are

139

140 CONDUCT BOOK II

stift', awkward, and constrained ; nay, to some people
they become impossible. Some people can no more
cross that space than if it were a space of deep water.
The concentration of the attention of many people
upon them, is inhibitory to the point of paralysing.

The fluent talker to one or two companions, whose
attention he desires to attract, and has perhaps a
difficulty in attracting, halts, stammers and breaks
down in his first speech to an assembly. What he
has to say is the same, but his ease of utterance is
gone. It is inhibited by the concentrated attention
of his audience. The learner who has acquired com-
plete accuracy in performing a piece of music in
private, bungles when he plays it to his first audience.
Persons who are never so skilled in an operation of
any kind, which they are accustomed to perform
alone, will break down under the attention of other
people. ' I can't do it while you look at me ' is what
they say. The handicraftsman, who has practised
his art until he has attained facility, finds himself
embarrassed if some one is watching him — still more
embarrassed if several people are watching him. He
loses his facility, and becomes awkward in his move-
ments. He makes mistakes. The conjurer or pres-
tidigitator who has perfected some trick in solitude,
so that he can perform it with perfect facility, and
with the certainty of success, is no longer certain of
success when he is performing it before an audience.
It requires longer practice to make him certain of
success before others, than to make him certain of
success in solitude. No one, without long practice,
can behave with the same ease before persons who

CHAP. X INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT 141

are observing him, and attending to what he does,
as he can when alone ; and the curious thing is that
w^hen he has attained ease before spectators to whom
he is accustomed, his embarrassment returns when
the spectators are new to him. An actor who is at
ease before provincial audiences, becomes embarrassed
at performing in London, and vice versa ; and the
speaker who has attained facility before an American
audience, is apt to experience an unwonted embar-
rassment at addressing one in England.

The modification of conduct that is brousjht about
by the attention of others, is called self-conscious
conduct : a term that implies that, in these circum-
stances, we have an exaggerated consciousness of our
own movements and attitudes. We are compelled
to attend to them as we do not attend when we are
alone ; and the result of this attention is awkward-
ness and embarrassment of movement, which may,
and in some cases does, rise to a height that renders
movement almost impossible ; and that has a para-
lysing effect upon the mental powers also. The
inexperienced speaker, who has committed his oration
to memory, and is word - perfect in it when alone,
finds himself, in the presence of his audience, without
a word to throw at a dog. His mind is as empty of
words as if the faculty of speech had never been
given to him. Even practised orators, speaking
before audiences to which they are well accustomed,
even actors of long experience, are liable to accessions
of ' stage fright,' which render them incapable of
uttering a word. Speakers so practised and ex-
perienced as Robert Lowe and Lord Randolph

142 CONDUCT

Churchill, have had to sit down in silence in the
House of Commons, overpowered in the middle of a
speech by their inability ; and many distinguished
actors have left on record that they often ex-
perienced lapses of the same kind.

Besides this inhibitory effect of the attention of
others on one's own action, another effect is very
frequent, even if it is not constant. Most people,
perhaps all people, who are doing a thing in the
presence of spectators, experience a desire to pose, to
' show off,' to exhibit some peculiarity of manner, to
appear to advantage, to ask silently for applause ;
a desire which they do not experience when alone.
This desire may be resisted. It commonly is resisted,
since it is not considered good form to allow the
appeal for applause to become apparent ; but very
often it is not resisted, and imparts to conduct a
peculiar character, that it does not possess in other
circumstances. Even when resisted, the very fact that
it has to be resisted, diminishes the ease and natural-
ness of the demeanour ; and imparts to it a peculiarity,
that can be recognised by the observant spectator.

With use and custom, the inhibitory effect of
attention, like to the somniferous effect of opium,
wears off, and is replaced by stimulation. The
practised orator, the experienced actor, the accom-
plished juggler, finds that his best performances are
executed in the presence of his largest audiences ;
and that a beggarly array of half-empty benches
fails to call forth his best powers. What embarrasses
and hampers his action, is not the attention of his
audience, })ut the want of it. If their interest flags,

CHAP. X INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT 148

and their attention wanders, if they talk among
themselves, and turn their eyes away from him,
straightway his powers flag, and he finds his task
more and more difficult and wearisome. He may
even be unable to proceed at all.

There are those in whom the inhibitory effect of
the attention of others is exaggerated, so as to pro-
duce more embarrassment, and more prolonged em-
barrassment, than is usual. Most children suffer
more or less from what is called shyness, which is
the inhibitory and confusing effect of the direction
of attention towards them ; and this phase of conduct
may endure into later life, and, when much prolonged
or very pronounced, it approaches the abnormal.
The confusion and embarrassment of mind that is
the mental side of shyness, may exhibit itself, in
conduct, in shrinking from observation, in self-
suppression, and withdrawal, as far as possible, from
engaging the attention of others ; and this may be
pushed so far that the shy person shuns society,
especially the society of strangers, to avoid the pains
of shyness. Otherwise, the confusion and embarrass-
ment may be exhibited in action intended to proclaim
their absence ; and shy persons often, in desperation,
do things which render them conspicuous, and attract
still more attention from bystanders. They en-
deavour to hide then' real shrinking from notice,
and their feeling of being ' out of it,' by boisterous
behaviour, by undue familiarities, by loudness of
speech and aggressive laughter, which leave them,
when the occasion is past, suffering from agonies of
remorse and shame.

144 CONDUCT book n

The opposite state, of deficient sensitiveness to
the attention of others, is sometimes seen ; and com-
plete self-possession, as it is termed, in young children,
and in young people who are conspicuous objects of
attention, though it can scarcely be called abnormal,
is unattractive. We are inclined to regard such
persons as lacking in modesty, and to be repelled
by them.

Something in the nature of what appears to be
a reversal of shyness is exhibited by some people,
who are not always, in fact, deficient in shyness.
There are those whose constant effort it is to attract
and concentrate upon them the attention of other
people. In the language of the stage, they try to
be always in the limelight ; and to achieve this end,
they usually play to the gallery. That is to say,
they seek to render themselves conspicuous by devices
which ostensibly have some other purpose. A man
can render himself conspicuous by holding over his
head a scarlet umbrella, or by sticking an ostrich
feather in the decorous silk hat of civilisation. Such
people may not, indeed, carry actual scarlet umbrellas,
nor do they decorate their hats with actual ostrich
feathers ; but they carry, wherever they go, a meta-
phorical scarlet umbrella, and are ready to open it
and hoist it aloft at any moment, to attract the
attention of their fellows. We may see the shadowy
ghost of an ostrich feather in their hats, even when
they are on the way to church. The type and
example of them is Bottom the weaver. They
always seek to be in the limelight. They desire to
attract and concentrate upon themselves the atten-

CHA,. X INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT 145

tioii of others. Some must have notoriety, even at
the cost of approbation and esteem. They would
rather be reprobated or contemned than incon-
spicuous ; rather notorious than neglected.

D. INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE ESTIMATION
OF OTHERS

A7nbition, Pride, Vanity, Conceit

An attitude of neutral attention is not long sus-
tained. It soon passes into one of esteem or dis-
esteem, approval or disapproval, liking or disliking,
with its consequences on the conduct of the person
attended to. Since every one desires to be esteemed,
approved and liked, and to avoid disesteem, dis-
approval and dislike, these attitudes on the part
of others have a very powerful influence on conduct ;
and our task is to discover what are the qualities
in conduct that arouse esteem, approval and liking,
and what are the qualities that evoke their opposites.
We shall then have the key to large departments of
social conduct.

These three social motives to conduct, though
they are separable on analysis, are yet, in practice,
closely associated, and together provide the dominat-
ing influence of social life. Every one desires, with
intense and overmastering urgency, to avoid con-
tempt, disapproval, and dislike, and to gain the
admiration, approval, and liking of his fellows. The
potency of the combined motives is enormous, and
often asserts their dominance over all other motives
to conduct, even the most primary, fundamental, and
original. The desire to be admired, approved, and

146 CONDUCT BOOK 11

liked by others, or to avoid their contempt, dis-
approval and dislike, overcomes the desire for money,
for life, even for reproductive conduct in all its
forms. For this, men will sacrifice fortune, life, love,
and even children. How large a proportion of the
money that is given in charity is given for no
charitable motive, but for ostentation, is notorious.
Of the tens of thousands who sacrifice their lives in
war, how many are actuated by love of country and
sense of duty ; how many by desire to gain admira-
tion, or by fear of incurring contempt ; how many
by desire to be approved, and fear of disapproval ?
Diff'erent people, with different experience, would
estimate the proportion differently ; but the large
share that is avowedly given, by soldiers themselves,
to the desire for glory, shows that it is a very im-
portant factor. Again, how many unequal marriages
are prevented by fear of loss of caste, and so of
incurring disesteem, we have no means of knowing ;
but it is certainly large. How many women are
preserved from sexual immorality by no instinct of
chastity, but by fear of incurring reprobation, we
cannot estimate ; but that they are very many, no
one can doubt.

Though desire to be liked, to be approved, and
to be applauded, and the correlative aversion to be
disliked, to be disapproved, to be contemned, often
concur in the same person with respect to the same
act; yet they are not only separable on analysis,
but often operate singly in determining conduct ;
and we often apportion them separately. We all
like Falstafl"; we all admire his wit; but we none of

CHAP. X INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT 147

us approve of him. We all admire Napoleon Buona-
parte ; but few of us like him, and still fewer approve.
We approve of both St. Francis of Assisi and St.
Dominic ; but the first we like without admiring ;
the second we admire without liking. We admire
Francis Bacon ; but we neither approve nor like him ;
we like Mr. Foker, without approving or admiring ;
and we approve John Howard, without admiring or
liking him. We must therefore examine separately
the influence of each upon conduct, and we take
first the influence of esteem.

Esteem, and its emphatic, admiration, are evoked by
the display of capability and skill in dealing with
circumstances, and of superiority of any kind ; and
also by the belief, well or ill-founded, that superiority
of any kind is possessed. Disesteem, and its emphatic,
contempt, are evoked by evidence of deficiency of skill
and capability, by the display of inferiority of any
kind, or by the belief in the existence of these
qualities or modes of action. To gain esteem at
least, and admiration if possible, is the common
desire of all ; and, in order to satisfy this desire, we
endeavour to display the qualities that evoke them ;
or at any rate, to engender in others the belief that
we possess them. We advertise our successes, and
pretend to superiority, even if we do not possess it.
To avoid disesteem and contempt, we conceal our
failures, and we avoid the display of incompetence
and inferiority, and endeavour to disguise or conceal
whatever of these qualities we feel that we have.

The matter is more complicated, however, than
this. In order that we may gain that applause from

148 CONDUCT

others that is so large an element in our well-being,
not only must we obtain credit for capability, or
success, or excellence, or superiority of some kind,
in some matter or other ; but we must satisfy two
further conditions. In the first place we must not
applaud ourselves ; in the second, we must not
demand the applause we desire.

He who achieves success in the face of difficulty,
or exhibits, in any respect, superiority to the general
run, even if it be a mere conventional superiority,
such as rank, or social position, is admired, and
receives applause, which is the expression of admira-
tion ; but if we detect that he is already in receipt
of applause from himself, our own is at once checked
and diminished. We are piqued that he should have
the presumption to forestall our own judgment. We
are annoyed that he has shown himself independent
of our opinion. His self-assurance, and applause of
himself, are distasteful to us. H he chooses to
applaud himself, without waiting for our sanction,
we are apt to let him content himself with that
applause, and to withhold our own. Those alone
receive unstinted applause, who combine high
achievement with modesty of demeanour. If we
desire to stand high in the estimation of others, and
to receive their applause, we must assume the virtue
of modesty, if we have it not. However satisfied
we may be of our own excellence and superiority, we
must keep that satisfaction to ourselves, and not
express it openly. We must not even allow it to
leak out in our demeanour.

Such suppression is not possible to all. We can

CHAP. X INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT 149

all suppress the verbal expression of any superiority
of which we feel ourselves possessed ; but a person in
whom the consciousness of superiority or excellence
is very strong, cannot suppress all manifestation of
it. It peeps through, unintentionally, and it may be
altogether unconsciously, in his demeanour. The
overt assumption of superiority is termed Arrogance
of demeanour, and the covert assumption is termed
Pride.

The second negative condition necessary to secure
the applause of others, is to refrain from demanding
it. Applause that is solicited is withheld ; or if, for
reasons, we feel obliged to accord it, it is not genuine,
or not wholly genuine. We may feel admiration,
but if our applause is solicited, we are inclined to
suppress it. Applause is a free gift : no one has a
right to demand it ; and the more explicitly and
urgently it is demanded, the more we feel inclined
to withhold it. A man may merit our applause
by the exhibition of indisputable skill, capacity,
superiority, or excellence ; but if he has the bad
taste to demand our applause as of right, we deny
it to him. No man can have a right to a free gift.

That impatience which is not content to wait for
applause until it is spontaneously given, but must
ask for it, may rest upon a real excellence, or on one
which has no real existence, but exists only in the
imagination of the demander. In the first case it is
termed Vanity, and in the second Conceit ; and the
demand may be conveyed in plain terms, or in-
directly, or by demeanour only. Applause is seldom
seriously demanded in plain terms, but is often

150 CONDUCT

BOOK II

demanded indirectly ; and vanity and conceit are
exhibited in various ways. The crudest methods of
indirect demand are boasting and bragging ; boasting
being the relation of actual achievement by the
boaster, bragging the relation of what he could do
if he liked ; but this crude method is so manifestly
calculated to defeat its own purpose, that it is
employed by those only in whom vanity or conceit
is carried to excess, or who are wanting in reticence,
or are exceptionally naive. A more frequent and
more subtle method of demanding applause, is to
exaggerate, or, without exaggeration, to exhibit and
emphasise, the diJBBculties of the feat for which applause
is desired. This device is often undetected ; but
when it is detected, its detection diminishes, as all
asking for applause diminishes, the amount and
heartiness of the applause that the feat may merit,
and would otherwise obtain. In exhibiting skill and
capacity, a man should not draw attention to his
skill and capacity. He should appear intent solely
on achieving his object ; not on the double task of
achieving his object and drawing attention to his
skill in doing so. All attitudinising, all flourishes,
all unnecessary display of capacity, are so many
devices for soliciting applause, and are certain means
of diminishing the applause of those who see through
the device. The highest skill, which receives the
most ungrudging applause of the most competent
critics, is not that in which difficulties are exhibited
and emphasised, but that in which they a,re ignored
and concealed. This is the meaning of the maxim,
Ars est celare artem. So necessary to the obtaining

CHAP. X INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT 151

of ungrudging applause, is the absence of any demand
for it, that a little want of self-possession is sometimes
more effectual than that perfect self-possession that
borders on the expression of vanity. For this reason,
an accomplished House of Commons orator advised
a novice not to be too perfect in the delivery of his
maiden speech. If he hesitated now and then, if he
even appeared to lose the thread of his discourse, and
break down temporarily, it would find him more
favour with his audience than a more perfect
delivery.

Complementarily, we hide from others our failures
and our unskilfulness ; for such exhibitions bring us
into disesteem and contempt with our fellows ; and
few experiences are more bitter than the knowledge
that we have brought ourselves into contempt. In
every endeavour, we have three efficient motives for
attaining success : three for avoiding failure. We
desire to attain, for its own sake, and for the benefit
that flows from it, the aim of our endeavour ; we
desire the more abstract and general satisfaction that
success of any kind brings with it ; and we desire the
enhanced estimation of our fellows that attends the
publication of our success. We desire to avoid
failure lest we lose the aim of our endeavour ; lest
we suffer the pangs of failure; lest we incur the
diminution of neighbourly esteem that attends the
knowledge that we have failed.

Conduct calculated to gain the esteem, and escape
the disesteem, of others, is subject to many vagaries.
Many profess indifference to the esteem of others,
but those who do so with sincerity are very few.

152 CONDUCT

The paiu of being in contempt is so severe, that few
indeed will not try to avoid it. A man may, indeed,
confess his own failures, and tell stories against
himself; but only in small matters, or in matters
foreign to the main purposes of life. In greater
matters, he will attribute failure, not to his own
want of capability, but to unavoidable misfortune,
or to the machinations of others. In moods of
depression, indeed, we may confess to incapability
or inferiority, but such confessions are often indirect
appeals for contradiction, or for sympathy. In the
morbid depression of insanity, the consciousness of
incapacity, incompetence, and general unworthiness,
is dominant ; and then confession of these inferiorities
is exaggerated in emphasis, and goes far beyond the
facts.

The commoner faults are an excess of the passion
for admiration and applause, leading to conduct that
is calculated to achieve this end, at the cost of
forfeiting the approval and liking of others ; and a
pursuit of applause that is too direct, or too evident,
and consequently fails, for the reasons already stated.

We commonly discriminate between the craving
for an applause that is widespread and uncritical,
and for that of a smaller, but more critical circle.
Conduct of the first kind must be histrionic, and
must rather exhibit excellence in doing that which
every one can do less well ; while conduct of the
second kind need not be showy, and is apt to be the
doing well of that which but few can do at all.
Ambition that is inordinate, that is to say, that
strives for admiration alone, regardless of approba-

CHAP. X INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT 153

tion and liking, is apt to lead to disaster. It incurs
the dislike of many, who therefore antagonise the
ambitious man ; and the disapprobation of many,
who therefore refrain from supporting him. The
most conspicuous example in history is, of course,
Napoleon Buonaparte. Desire for admiration may
prompt conduct of almost any kind, from bravery in
war to philosophic speculation ; from feats of personal
strength to display in costume ; from the laborious
acquisition of fluency of speech to ostentatious dona-
tions to the poor. The passion for admiration, so
called, that we witness in certain women, is not so
much a social as a sexual craving. What they desire,
and by this conduct seek, is not so much common
admiration, as the attraction of the opposite sex.
The desire for the admiration of their own sex is not,
indeed, wanting ; it may enter largely into their
motive ; but the proximate motive is predominantly
sexual. In no case is the distinction between conduct
in pursuit of admiration, and conduct in pursuit of
approbation and of liking, clearer than in this. Such
women desire the admiration and liking of men, but if
they can secure the admiration of women, they are
indifterent to the hostility they inspire ; nay, it is
even an additional gratification, as evidence of
superiority.

If we desire the applause of others, we must, as
already shown, refrain from applauding ourselves,
and from those peculiarities of manner and demeanour
which indicate self-applause, as well as from demand-
ing or supplicating for applause, or making naked
claim to superiority. Failures of reticence in these

154 CONDUCT

BOOK II

respects are not infrequent, and may be truly
regarded as perversions of conduct, since they defeat
the very object that they seek to attain. The man
of arrogant demeanour exhibits a self-applause, and,
by implication, an indifference to the esteem of others,
which arouses our hostility. The naive self-applause
of Ruskin excites in us, not admiration, but rather
contempt ; and so does the arrogance of Carlyle.
The boaster and the braggart do not obtain the
admiration they seek, and rather diminish than
increase our esteem for them. Short of boasting and
bragging, there is a subtler mode of asking for admira-
tion by talking about oneself, which assumes that we
are of sufficient importance to be the subject of con-
versatiron ; and still more indirect is that insincere
self-depreciation, that is intended to evoke contradic-
tion : one of many instances of the pride that apes
humility.

Though it is not peculiar to the insane, nothing
is more characteristic of the insane than boasting and
bragging, and the limitation of conversation to them-
selves and their own affairs ; and, as we should expect,
these modes of conduct reach, in the insane, a pitch
of enormity that is never witnessed in the sane.

CHAPTER XI

E. INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE APPROVAL OF
OTHERS

Elicited Morality

What qualities in conduct are admired and applauded,
and what inspire disesteem and contempt, we have
already discovered. We are now to find the qualities
that are approved, and are displayed in order to win
approval ; and those that are disapproved, and are, in
consequence, either eschewed or concealed ; and they
are not far to seek. That conduct is approved, and
called right, that is beneficial to the community or to
the stirp ; and that which is detrimental to the com-
munity or the stirp, is disapproved, reprobated, and
called wrong. Moral conduct is conduct that serves
the common interest, or the interest of the stirp, as
distinguished from the interest of the actor. Conduct
that is regarded as immoral and wrong, is conduct
injurious, either to the community as a whole, or to
individual members or classes of the community, or
to the stirp. These, I say, are the qualities in conduct
that are respectively approved, and called right or
moral ; or disapproved, and called wrong or immoral ;
but I do not say that these qualities are thus regarded

155

156 CONDUCT

because they are discerned to have these effects. In
approving or disapproving conduct, as right or wrong,
we do not avowedly, or even consciously, rest our
approval or disapproval on the beneficial or injurious
effect of the conduct. This does not enter into our
judgment. We regard certain modes of conduct
instinctively, as right or wrong ; we consider right-
nesa and wrongness as primary qualities of conduct,
not needing explanation, and scarcely susceptible of
explanation. We consider murder and robbery wrong
in themselves — intrinsically and manifestly wrong,
instinctively abhorrent — without regard to their effect
on society. We consider parental solicitude and filial
piety right in themselves — intrinsically and manifestly
right — and approve them instinctively, without need-
ing to give, as a reason for our approval, that they
are beneficial to the stirp.

Nor do I wish to imply that right conduct is
followed solely from the motive of securing approval ;
wrong conduct eschewed from the sole motive of
avoiding disapproval. A morality that rests on such
foundations, is not much superior to that which is
based on the expectation of reward, and the fear of
punishment. Those only are of the highest morality,
whose conduct does, indeed, secure approval, but is
dictated, not by the desire to secure approval, but by
the simple desire to do what is right because it is felt
and believed to be right — in short, from a sense of
duty. This, however, is Spontaneous Morality, and
is considered in a subsequent chapter. Here we are
treating of Elicited Morality only, for Moral Conduct
is no exception to the rule, that the external factor, as

CHAP. XI

ELICITED MORALITY 157

well as the internal factor, enters into the guidance of
Conduct in every department. The highest and truest
morality is that which is dictated by the internal
factor alone : — that which is followed from an instinc-
tive desire to do what is believed and felt to be right :
to avoid and repel that which is believed or felt to be
wrong. But, in the present stage of human develop-
ment, many persons are imperfectly socialised in this
respect. Their sense of duty is imperfectly developed,
and were it not reinforced by other sanctions, would
be insufficient to keep them in the path of rectitude.
But, since adherence to this path is necessary for the
preservation of the community, and therefore of the
stirp, several other sanctions, besides that of con-
science, have come into existence, in order to fence
the path about. The patent necessity for an external
reinforcement of the sense of duty, has led every
community to institute its own system of criminal
law, which safeguards the social fabric, by punishing
acts that are injurious to it. A method so direct,
and so brutal, is felt to be crude and artificial ; and,
at best, it merely punishes infractions of social order
after they have taken place. A far more effectual
remedy would be one that should prevent them ; and
to this end, the Religious sanction ministers ; as will
hereafter be shown. But the sense of duty is, in
many, so weak, and the importance to society of pre-
serving its integrity against internal aggressions is
so vital, that a third influence is brought to bear
against them. This is the growth and development,
in the minds of men, of pleasure derived from the
approval, and pain derived from the disapproval, of

158 CONDUCT

their fellows. To secure tliis pleasure, and avoid this
pain, men who would not be deterred from wrong-
doing by any internal sense of duty, or by any in-
fluence of religion, may yet be kept in the straight
path of morality.

It has been said that that conduct is approved
which is beneficial, either to society or to the stirp ;
and that is disapproved, which is injurious to one
or other. The truth of this thesis may not be self-
evident, but a little consideration will show that it
must be true.

The desire to obtain the approval of others for
our conduct, and to avoid their disapproval, is, as has
been shown, a very powerful and pervading motive
to conduct. In everything that we do and say, we
keep one eye on the efl:ect our action will have in
gaining or forfeiting the approval of others. ' What
will people think ? ' is a question constantly on the
tongues of some, and constantly in the minds of all.
There is no reason of comfort or convenience why a
man should not go to a dinner-party in his shooting
jacket and knickerbockers, or a woman should not go
to a wedding in deep mourning. They do not dress
thus, however ; and the reason they do not is that,
if the action occurs to them, they ask themselves
what people will think. They are deterred by the
disapproval they will incur. We all try to act so as
to gain approval and avoid disapproval : and these
motives influence us in nearly everything we do.
Consequently, the conduct of every member of the
community tends to conform, and in the majority of
his acts does conform, with what his fellows approve

CHAP. XI ELICITED MORALITY 159

of; and teuds to avoid, aud for the most part does
avoid, acts of which they disapprove. If, therefore,
conduct that is generally approved were detrimental
to the community, it would be generally followed ;
and in the long run the community must perish. If
conduct that is beneficial were disapproved, it would
be generally eschewed, and the community would be
defeated, and superseded by one in which disapproval
was more advantageously bestowed. The history of
the human race, in the main a history of conflict, has
been long enough, and arduous enough, to bring
about an adjustment of approval to beneficial
conduct, and of disapproval to harmful conduct, even
if such adjustment did not originally exist ; for, by
natural selection, those communities in which the
adjustment was more complete, would survive and
prevail : those in which it was less complete, would
perish, or be exterminated.

Whether the approval of conduct is owing to any
appreciation of its beneficial character or not, is of
no importance. It is enough that conduct of this
character is approved, no matter whether the reason
of the approval is rational or irrational ; or whether
the approval rests on no reason at all. It would be
safe to say that the biological value of the conduct
is seldom the ground of the approval. We regard
action as right or wrong on grounds of authority, of
sympathy, of prejudice, of our suppositious as to the
will of the Deity, or on no acknowledged ground at
all. Many acts are instinctively perceived to be
right or wrong, without consideration or deliberate
judgment ; and what this instinctive perception

160 CONDUCT

BOOK H

means, will be explained below ; but wlietlier we
know it or not, our approval is given to conduct that
is beneficial to the community or the stirp, and our
disapproval to conduct that is of the opposite
tendency.

Even if the ground of our approval were, origin-
ally, appreciation of the beneficial character of the
conduct, this would not long remain the ground.
By anticipation of motive, the ultimate end would
drop out of sight, and the conduct would be followed
for its own sake. From an intermediate end it would
advance to an ultimate end, just as the ringing
of church bells and the teaching of Latin have so
advanced ; and as in these cases, if a reason is sought,
some new reason is advanced in place of the true one,
which is forgotten. The action has, in short, ceased
to be reasoned, and is become instinctive.

If, now, we examine the conduct that is in fact
approved, and considered to be right, we shall find
that it does, in fact, conform to the description, of
being beneficial to the community and the stirp,
regardless of the actor ; while that which is dis-
approved, may be beneficial to the actor, but is
detrimental to the community or to the stirp. We
have seen in a previous chapter, that the influence of
society on the individual is in the main inhibitory.
Society limits our activity in this direction and in
that ; but where it does not limit us, it leaves us
very much to our own devices. It prescribes what we
may not do, without exhorting us as to what we are
to do. It is a gardener that prunes, but does not
train. The fear of disapproval is mainly prohibitory.

CHAP. XI

ELICITED MORALITY 161

and is therefore a more general motive to conduct
than the desire for approval, which is less prohibitory
and more stimulating. Moreover, the ways in which
injury may be done to the community or the stirp,
are more numerous than the ways in which they can
be benefited ; and consequently, we shall find that
the modes of conduct of which we disapprove, and
which we stigmatise as wrong, are more numerous
than those on which we bestow active approbation.
We are now to discover the kinds of acts that are
disapproved and regarded as wrong.

Wrong conduct is conduct that is injurious to the
community or to the stirp ; and as to the first kind
of wrong conduct, it may be injurious directly or
indirectly, and to the community as a whole, t/O
sections or classes, or to individuals. Conduct that is
injurious to the stirp must be separately considered.

Conduct that is directly injurious to the whole
community is treason. Technically, treason is levying
war against the king, compassing his death, or assist-
ing his enemies ; but we are not bound to this
technical meaning ; and it seems to me that the true
mischief of treason is injury, not so much of the king,
as of the commonwealth, of which the king is the
representative. When the technical meaning was
fixed, the tenure of his throne by the monarch was
comparatively insecure, and the king not merely
reigned, but governed. His death or deposition was
a serious calamity, and diminished the security of
the kingdom itself from invasion, and of every
person in it from foes, both native and foreign. In
the absence of a strong hand at the centre of

M

162 CONDUCT

government, the peace was not kept ; and no one
knew what pretender might arise, or what disorder
might not ensue on the demise of the crown. Now-
adays, the government is distributed over a much
wider basis, and is much more secure. Amurath to
Amurath succeeds, without the slightest apprehension
of danger to the nation, either from without or from
within ; and the death or removal of the king is no
longer the most serious evil that can befall the
nation. Hence, our concept of treason may be
widened. Compassing the death of the king, or,
generally, antagonism to him, was resented, not
merely because of the divinity that doth hedge a
king, but because the king held in his hand the
power, safety, and welfare of the kingdom ; and to
strike at him was to strike at the whole community.
The king was not merely the ruler and governor of
the nation ; he was its symbol also ; and attack upon
him was resented, not merely as an attack on his
person, but as an attack upon the whole nation
that he symbolised. In short, antagonism to the
king is but one mode of injurious action on the
nation that the king represents ; and is therefore but
one mode of treason, in the wider sense in which the
term is used here. Treason is conduct directly
injurious to the community at large.

For such conduct the severest reprobation is
reserved, and the most terrible punishments inflicted.
At a time when any injury of a private person, even
up to murder, could be condoned by a pecuniary fine
at a fixed tarifi", no mercy was ever shown to traitors ;
and the punishments they incurred were grotesque

CHA1.XI ELICITED MORALITY 163

in the elaborateness of their gruesome details. Such
punishments are no longer inflicted ; but it would be
a mistake to suppose, because attempts on the life of
the sovereign are no longer punished capitally, that
treason to the whole community is no longer resented.
If actual attacks on the person of the sovereign are
regarded with leniency, it is partly because of the
greater strength of the humanitarian spirit, but
mainly because the life of the sovereign is no longer
of prime importance. Little mercy is shown to those
whose action is calculated to injure the community
seriously ; or to those who are supposed, however
erroneously, even to sympathise with the common
enemy. The old forms of treason, even if they were
now practised, would no longer rouse the populace to
fury. It would be diflacult, nowadays, to reproduce
the madness of the Popish Plot, or even the panic of
Chartism ; but the experience of the Dreyfus case,
and of our own persecution of so-called pro-Boers,
shows that the passionate abhorrence of what is
regarded as treason, is as intense as ever. Even
Napoleon Buonaparte, in his day, was scarcely
more execrated than was President Kruger in ours.
Technically, of course, neither Napoleon I. nor
President Kruger was a traitor ; but the resentment
against those who seek to injure the community, is
much the same, whether they attack it from wdthin
or from without. Spontaneous Patriotism — the love
of our own community — is sufiicient to preserve most
of us from treasonable conduct ; but if an additional
motive is needed, it is furnished by the knowledge
of the universal execration that we should incur.

164 CONDUCT book h

Patriotism is no longer subject to its former
limitations. In most languages, the name for an
enemy is derived from that of a stranger, or vice
versa ; an indication of the strict limitation of our
sympathies to those of our own community. With
the spread of humanitarianism, and the freer inter-
course among nations, our sympathies are widened ;
and merely local patriotism tends to widen into
benevolence towards the whole human race. This
spread of benevolence has, however, its counterpart
in the wider application of treason. We now witness
conduct antagonistic, not merely to this or that
sovereign or government, but generally to all
governments, and all means of government. The
anarchist is a traitor, not only to the community in
which he lives, but to all civilised communities ; and
is a caput lupinwni, open to attack by all.

Disapproval is awarded, not only to direct, but to
indirect attacks on the community — to any conduct
that is calculated to weaken or impair its life-
worthiness. This is the reason of the disapproval
with which we regard innovators ; for, as will be
shown in the next chapter, innovation is always a
potential source of weakness in a community.

Complementary to the disapproval and execration
that are heaped upon traitors, are the approval and
acclaim that are awarded to patriots. The most
manifest service that can be rendered to a community
by its component members, is to fight for it ; oppor-
tunity for which is frequent enough in the long
history of our race, whose normal state, until quite
recent times, has been a state of war. The fighter

oHAP.xi ELICITED MORALITY 165

has always been honoured ; and even at the present
day, when humanitarianism has made such surprising
advances, the man who conducts a successful war is
immediately rewarded by a grateful nation with high
rank and large fortune ; while the man who has saved
a thousand lives for every one that the other has
destroyed, is tardily rewarded with a low rank in the
peerage, and no money at all. The fighter is always
the most honoured person in the community ; and
consequently, the practice of fighting, and the
following of arms as a profession, are always cul-
tivated, for the sake of the honour that attaches to
them.

The approbation with which fighting for the
community is regarded, is bestowed, by anticipation
of motive, on fighting for fighting's sake ; and the
combative man is approved and honoured, while
the meek are disapproved and despised; in spite of
the great inheritance that they are to expect.

Manifest services are rendered to the nation, not
only by those who fight for it, but by those also who
direct its policy and manage its internal affairs ; and
when their management is such that the nation is
benefited thereby, they receive their meed of
approval. To secure this approval, many persons
devote laborious lives to politics ; but it must be
admitted that in this, as in other actions of the class
now dealt with, the motives of the actors are mixed.
The approval of his fellows is by no means the sole
motive of the politician. He is actuated in part by
ambition — by the desire to be esteemed and applauded
— in part by the desire to be conspicuous, and the

166 CONDUCT book n

object of attention ; in part by the desire for power ;
in some cases by the desire for pecuniary and other
collateral advantages that attend the profession of
politics ; and in part, it may be, by disinterested
love of country, and desire to serve his fellow-men.
In as far as his motive is believed to be the last, in
so far is he approved and honoured by his fellow-
countrymen ; and in as far as he is credited with
other motives, this approval is withheld from
him. The concurrence of so many motives, induces
a large number of men to devote themselves to
political life ; and the number would probably be
larger, were it not that the approbation awarded to
politicians is seldom unanimous. Inasmuch as he
gratifies one section of the nation, he is apt to offend
another ; and though he may receive much honour,
he is likely to be the object of much execration also.

In the complex constitution that society has now
reached, it is inevitable that the immediate interests
of sections and classes within the community should
sometimes clash with one another ; and then we
witness a reproduction of patriotic and antipatriotic
conduct on a smaller scale. Each section or class
will produce its special champions and opponents,
who will incur approval, admiration, and liking from
those whom they support ; disapproval and dislike
from those whom they oppose. As in the larger
community of the nation, the largest measure of
execration will be reserved for the traitor — for him
who opposes, or fails to support, the interests of his
own immediate fellows. As the armed foe is respected,
and even honoured, while the traitor to his nation

ELICITED MOKALITY 1G7

is execrated, and killed without mercy ; so the
employer is withstood with stubbornness, but without
violence ; while the blackleg is hustled and assaulted.
He who opposes the interests, real or supposed, of
his own town or class, is regarded as a petty traitor ;
and finds it hard to withstand the execration he
incurs. An Irish landlord who should espouse the
cause of the tenants, or an Irish tenant who should
sympathise with the landlords, supposing such a
monster to be possible, would have little reason
to congratulate himself on his independence of action ;
and the fact that no such lusus naturae has appeared,
speaks, not merely for the sway of self-interest,
but for the much stronger influence of the motives
we are now considering ; for there has never been a
righteous cause that has not inspired some men to
subordinate their own interest to the rights of others ;
but to incur the odium of their fellows, is a conse-
quence that few are willing to face.

Powerful as is the influence of the approval
and disapproval of our fellows, on our conduct
towards the community as a whole, and towards
sections and classes of the community ; the widest
sway of these motives is over our conduct towards
our individual fellows. The reason why it is wrong
to steal, to murder, to bear false witness, and
generally, to allow our self - regarding action to
injure our neighbours, is that such action is destruc-
tive to the community. If such action became
prevalent, the community would dissolve into
segregated and antagonistic units. As self-regard-
ing motives are intrinsically stronger than social-

168 CONDUCT

conservative motives, it is necessary to reinforce the
latter by various extrinsic expedients, of which the dis-
approbation, felt and displayed towards him who
injures the community by selfish injury of others,
is one of the most powerful. By the natural process
already described ; by the action of natural selection,
in weeding out both individuals and communities in
which self-restraint in this respect is less developed,
and allowing the survival of those in whom it is
more developed ; the instinct of morality has now
attained a certain fixation and potency ; but its
fixation and potency are as yet far from complete.
Spontaneous reluctance to injure others for our own
self-interest, would, in very many cases, be insufficient
to prevent such action, if the inner motive were not
reinforced by the knowledge, that by so acting we
should incur the reprobation of our fellows. Many
a man whose honesty, many a woman whose chastity
would not of itself be powerful enough to withstand
temptation, is kept in the straight path by dread
of the disgrace that would follow on a lapse from
virtue. It is clear, however, that, in many cases,
this motive must be inefficacious. Disapprobation
will not be incurred unless the lapse from virtue is
known ; and if it can be concealed, the motive does
not come into operation. For this reason, the
exigencies of social conservation have provided, in
the inculcations of religion, an internal reinforcement
of the moral instinct, that does not depend on
publicity for its operation. This additional rein-
forcement will be considered further on, under the
head of religious conduct ; at present we need

CHAP. XI ELICITED MORALITY 169

concern ourselves with the restraint of disapprobation

only-
Disapproval is felt towards all acts by which
gratification is gained by the injury of other people,
whatever the nature of those acts may be ; but disap-
proval is not limited to acts of this class. We have
seen that the first condition to the existence of a society,
is the exercise of self-restraint on the part of its
members, and the unrestrained activity of each in-
dividual, even if that activity is in no wise antagon-
istic to other individuals, is destructive of the society.
As already pointed out, if all the members of a flock
or herd move in diff"erent directions, the flock or herd
is dispersed, and ceases to exist as an aggregate.
Society, therefore, in self-protection, frowns upon lack
of self-restraint, and approves of conduct that is self-
restrained. We disapprove of undue self-indulgence,
even though no one is injured by it. We reprobate
the glutton, the drunkard, the slothful, the idle, the
devotee of pleasure, even though they harm no one by
their self-indulgence ; and contrarily, we approve the
abstemious, the industrious, the continent, for the self-
restraint that they exercise. When exaggerated into
asceticism, self-restraint receives, in most communities,
an additional meed of approval.

There are occasions, however, on which the
disapproval of the community, so far from being
avoided, is deliberately incurred. Powerful as is
the desire for the approval of others, and great as
are the pains of knowing oneself disapproved, yet
these are not paramount among motives, even among
social motives. That they should yield to the

170 CONDUCT

urgency of the primary motives of self-conservation
and reproduction, is not to be wondered at ; for these
are motives of much greater antiquity, and take
biological precedence. That urgency of want should
lead men to steal ; and that urgency of love, or of
cruder passion, should lead to unchastity ; are results
that we observe with regret, but without wonder.
They are easily explained, for the dread of general
disapproval is, after all, but a secondary instinct ;
and naturally yields to a primary one. But that
this secondary instinct should be overcome by the
desire of self-approbation, which is not only of later
origin, but is actually derived from that which it
conquers, appears paradoxical. The instinct to do
what we believe to be right, merely because it is
right, is, in other words, an instinctive desire for
self-approval. We should disapprove ourselves if
we acted otherwise, and our own disapproval is more
than we can bear ; so we do what we believe to be
right, even though, in so doing, we incur the dis-
approval of others. The pain of self-disapproval is,
to many, greater than the pain of the disapproval of
others. Our notions of right and wrong arise in
this way : — To primitive natures, to children, to
the unthinking, to the uncultured, that is right, of
which the general sentiment approves ; that is
wrong, of which the general sentiment disapproves.
Right is right because it is approved ; wrong is wrong
because it is disapproved ; and no other standard of
morality is known. But we are ourselves members
of the community, and, as such, w^e appraise the
conduct of others, and of ourselves, by the same

CHAP XI ELICITED MORALITY 171

standard. We grow up, that is, in the knowledge
that some things are regarded as right, and others
as wrong ; and we adopt towards them, whether
done by ourselves or by others, the attitude of
approval or disapproval that we find prevalent.
Pending the approval or disapproval of others, which
cannot be expressed until the act is done, we
determine the rightness or wrongness of an act
by the test of our own approval or disapproval of it.
We thus appraise action, in order that our conduct
may be such as shall be generally approved ; and
the origin of our desire to secure our own approval,
is the desire to secure the approval of others. By
anticipation of motive, the further end is lost sight
of; and in course of time, we act on the motive
of securing our own approval, without regard to
the approval of others. The proximate motive,
which was originally but a means to a further end,
is now become an end to be sought for its own sake.

When men begin to think for themselves, they
appraise anew the acts that they find the subjects
of general approval and disapproval ; and they
may adjudge certain acts that are generally approved,
to be pernicious, or certain that are generally dis-
approved, to be beneficial to the community ; and in
this they may be correct or incorrect. For though,
by the operation of natural selection, general approval
goes to conduct that is beneficial to the community,
and disapproval to conduct that is detrimental ; yet
conduct that is beneficial in one may be injurious in
another, and the benefit may be direct and manifest,
while the injuriousness may be indirect and obscure,

172 CONDUCT

or vice versa. Moreover, a mode of conduct that is
beneficial in one set of circumstances, or in one stage
of society, may be harmful in another ; and the
corresponding attitude of approval or disapproval
may not alter in accordance with the alteration in
the effect of the conduct. Whether the appraise-
ment is correct or incorrect, it follows that, when a
new appraisement is made, and does not agree with
that which is prevalent, the standard of right and
wrong of the appraiser will conflict with that of the
community at large ; and, in doing what he thinks
right, he will do what others think wrong. How he
will act in such a case, will depend on whether the
pain of self-disapproval is greater than the pain of
the disapproval of others, plus the penalties that this
disapproval carries with it. If it be, he will do what
he thinks right, regardless of consequences ; if it be
not, he will bow himself in the House of Rimmon.
It is to the credit of human nature, that no new
doctrine has ever lacked martyrs.

Benefit and injury to the community are not the
only determinants of the rightness and wrongness of
conduct. Moral judgments of conduct depend on
the eff"ect of the conduct on the preservation of the
stirp also. By the same process of natural selection,
by which approval and disapproval are brought into
harmony with benefit and injury, respectively, to the
community, they are brought into harmony with
benefit and injury, respectively, to the stirp. In
those communities in which conduct injurious to the
stirp is approved, such conduct will be followed ;
and the community will perish with the stirp. In

CHAP. X. ELICITED MORALITY 173

those in which conduct beneficial to the stirp is dis-
approved, such conduct will be followed ; and the
stirp will not survive. Hence the reprobation with
which the practice of procuring abortion is visited ;
hence the disapproval with which religion, the
peculiar guardian of the community, regards the
limitation of families ; hence the encouragement that
it gives to large families ; hence the general approval
given by the Jews to the marriage with a brother's
wife ; to the taking of a concubine to supplement the
function of a barren wife ; hence the approval of
parental and filial affection. The disapproval of
immodesty and unchastity rests on grounds that are
partly social, partly racial.

The doctrine of morality that is here advanced, is
not the conventional doctrine. The general notion
is, I think, that we approve that which we believe to
be right, because it is right ; and we disapprove that
which is wrong, because it is wrong. I think there
is confusion in this view. In my view, to approve a
thing, and to adjudge it right, are the same ; or,
if there is any difference, approval precedes the
judgment, instead of following it, according to the
current doctrine. We accept those things as right
that are generally approved ; and many people never
go beyond this stage. They accept the conventional
morality that they find prevalent ; and then, though
they approve what they believe to be right, they
believe it to be right because they find it generally
approved. In this case, the judgment of what is
right rests on approval — the approval of others. If,
however, a man quarrels with conventional morality.

174 CONDUCT

his difference must rest on one of two grounds.
Either he looks to the social and racial consequences
of conduct, and approves or condemns it as, socially
or racially, advantageous or injurious; or he refers
to what he considers is the attitude of the Deity,
and makes his approval or disapproval coincide with
what he believes to be the approval or disapproval of
God. In the first case, he adopts, without explicitly
acknowledging that he does so, the code of ethics
that is here stated. In the second case, he rests his
belief of what is divinely approved or disapproved,
either on authority, or on his own inspiration, or,
what is for the present purpose equivalent, his own
interpretation of the inspired sayings of others ; but
in any case, right rests on approval, wrong on dis-
approval. If he rests his belief on authority, the
same authority usually dictates the common standard ;
and his morality is the prevalent and conventional
morality. If he rests his belief on his own inspira-
tion, or his own interpretation of the inspired sayings
of others ; his morality is usually bizarre, and is apt
to coincide with self-interest, or class-interest. In
any case, the ultimate test of the morality of conduct,
by which it must stand or fall, by which its eventual
adoption or rejection must be determined, is social
and racial advantage. That conduct which is found
by experience to be socially or racially advantageous,
will at length gain general approval, and prevail ;
and that which is found by experience to be socially
or racially disadvantageous, will meet with general
disapproval, and will die out. The true reason for
the approval or disapproval will not usually be

ELICITED MORALITY 175

assigned : may not even be known. The disadvan-
tageous conduct will be felt to be wrong, without
reason assigned. It will become distasteful. Men's
gorge will rise against it, as it rose against human
sacrifices, against torture, against the persecutions of
the Inquisition, against prosecution for witchcraft,
against the sweating of the labour of children. When
we say that we feel instinctively that such or such
conduct is wrong, we cannot say why ; we express an
inarticulate appreciation, felt deep down in our nature,
that the conduct we so stigmatise is socially or
racially disadvantageous ; and if it were to prevail,
would tend to the destruction of the community, or
the extirpation of the race. If this antagonism to
what is socially and racially disadvantageous does
not become the prevalent code of morality, then the
community will perish ; the race will be extirpated ;
and the code of morality will perish with the race it
has destroyed.

The influence on conduct of the disapproval of
others, appears, in many instances, to be defective.
Many persons — hardened criminals — appear callous
to reprobation, and indiff"erent though all men abhor
them. But all men do not abhor them. Each of
them has his own small circle of comrades, by whom
he is at least admired, if not even approved. The
more such criminals bring upon themselves the
general reprobation of the community at large, the
more they are admired, the more they may even be
approved, by their own immediate social circle.
These are the people with whom the criminal is in

176 CONDUCT

contact ; whose estimation he values, and whose
approval or disapproval carries weight with him.
The rest of the world are, to him, foreigners. He
does not recognise their standards ; or admit the
jurisdiction of their opinion. They are not only-
foreigners, but foreigners with whom he is at war.
To court their approval would be treachery to the
small community, to whose approval and disapproval
he is amenable, and attaches weight. ' Honour
amongst thieves ' is an adage of very ancient
pedigree. It means that he who joins the furtive
community must adopt furtive standards. He must
subject his conduct to the approval or disapproval of
the community he has entered ; and must abide by
the result. To refuse to adopt the standard of this
community, and to order his conduct without regard
to its approval or disapproval, would render him
altogether an outlaw ; and this is a fate that no man
has the hardihood to face. The defect of the
acknowledged criminal is not that he is impervious
to the motives, of seeking approbation and avoiding
its reverse ; but that the approval that he seeks,
and the disapproval that he tries to avoid, are not
those of society at large, which are adapted to its
own welfare and maintenance ; but of a small
community, parasitic on society, in which morality,
as far as it exists, is different from that of society
at large. It is for this reason that the furtive
community is so unstable. No gang of thieves, no
horde of bandits, hangs long together. If society
does not exterminate it, it falls to pieces ; for it is
built on the sand of disloyalty. No band of brigands

CHAP. X. ELICITED MORALITY 177

has had a loug existence ; and those that have lived
longest, have owed their longevity to the adoption of
correct social methods, and an adherence to some, at
least, of the principles of morality. They have been
faithful to each other ; have cherished the weak ; fed
the hungry; and, however raptorial their conduct
to the community at large, have observed honesty in
their dealings with each other.

Many pretend indifference to the disapproval of
their fellows ; but, except the martyr, who is
sustained by a sense of rectitude derived otherwise
than directly from observing what the community
approves, it is doubtful whether the indifference is
sincere. In insanity, however, with the decay of
other faculties, this also is weakened, and at last
destroyed. We are not surprised to find demented
persons, whose minds are reduced to a low level, lost
as much to the appreciation of disapproval, as to that
of other circumstances. Those who are indifferent to
hunger and thirst, heat and cold, and have not even
enough intelligence to dress themselves, can scarcely
be expected to appreciate the approval or disapproval
of others ; and accordingly, we find that their
conduct is often bestial, and they cannot be made to
appreciate its bestiality. But these are not the only
insane who fail in the appreciation of right and
wrong. There are not a few who retain a fair, and
even a considerable degree of intelligence, but who
are shamelessly filthy and immoral ; indifferent to
the unanimous disapproval of their fellows ; and
treat all expressions of disgust with callousness and
levity. Such persons are often guilty of the vilest

N

178 CONDUCT bookh

outrages on others. One will spit in bis neighbour's
plate ; another will make an unprovoked attack upon
him, or pour on him the foulest abuse and obscenity ;
a third will be guilty of revolting indecency ; but no
expression of disapproval puts them to shame, no
subsequent reflection brings -er se. They are
utterly callous, and cannot be t to appreciate

the heinousness of their co^ ''ui.'j^s jd.ji

Lastly, there is a ar^ ..jitil ' I persons who are
otherwise normal in mioid ■ '■■tis d to be incapable
of appreciating the righ.ju ^gness of acts,

or of being influenced b}' , app^.. bation or dis-
approbation of others. To admiration and contempt,
they often show exaggerated sensitiveness ; but to
approbation and reprobation thf_^^ are callous. Such
persons, whom I term moral imbeciles, must not be
confused with another class of immoral persons, who
recognise quite well the distinctior between right and
wrong conduct, but yet incur disapproval and punish-
ment for wrong-doing, without beinjr able, so it appears,
to reform their ways. Both clasE 3S do criminal acts
from a very early age. The moral imbecile continues
to act criminally for the rest of his life. Punishment
embitters and exasperates him, but has not the least
reforming influence. He has no self-disapproval for
his wrongful acts ; and looks on punishment for them
as unjust persecution. He does not acknowledge —
it seems never to occur to him — that other people
are to be considered, or that their welfare should
stand in the way of his own gratification. As Bacon
says, he would burn down another man's house to
roast his own eggs. He is irreformable and irre-

ELICITED MORALITY 179

claimable. The criminal propensities of such persons
show themselves at a very early age. As soon as
other children would begin to recognise and conform
to moral teaching, it is discovered that these children
are incapable of moral education. They begin to
steal before th " ar*" breeched, and continue to steal
for the rest of ^es. There is, however, another

class of immo: LrP''"» distinct from that which

has been desc ind ^uch more amenable to

reform. These lit. « know and appreciate quite
well that, w^ e stealing, they are doing

wrong ; but t-.ey hu jt sufficient self-restraint to
withstand temptation. Whatever they see that is
desirable, they take to their own use, even at the
cost of prompt an^ severe and certain punishment.
Persons of both kinds will steal with little attempt
at concealment ; and the same person who, at one
time, will steal with elaborate precautions, will
steal, at another, with barefaced impudence. A
peculiarity often, but not necessarily, found in the
second class, and absent in the first, is that their
V oredations are, ' in many cases, restricted to one
Class of object. Some children steal chocolates, and
chocolates only. Some adults steal fans only, or
single boots, or spoons, or what not — often things
that are of no use, certainly of no use in the numbers
they accumulate. Some steal, merely, as it appears,
from the itch of stealing, and from no strong desire
of possession ; for they will give away the stolen
object to the first comer — perhaps to a beggar in the
street. Children who exhibit this second mode of
immorality are incorrigible as children, and some-

180 CONDUCT

times remain incorrigible to adult life ; but in many
cases — in the majority of cases — their evil propensities
drop from them as they emerge from childhood.

Hyper-conscientiousness is a conspicuous feature
in many cases of insanity. There are many insane
persons who live in the miserable conviction that
their most innocent acts are wrong. Their whole
past lives meet with their own disapproval, and
they disapprove profoundly of everything they
do in the present. In many cases, in order to
account for their reprobation of themselves, they
imagine immoral acts that they deludedly believe
they have committed ; and accuse themselves of
crimes and wrongful doings, of which they are com-
pletely innocent. They are afraid to do the most
innocent acts for fear they may be wrong ; and in
some cases are convinced that such acts as even
taking food, ought to be abstained from.

CHAPTER XII

F. INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE LIKING OF
OTHERS

Suavity

The desire to be liked, and to avoid being disliked,
by others, is of less cogency than the desire to be
admired or to be approved ; but still, it is a motive
of considerable force ; and, though usually accom-
panying one or both the others in practice, is not
always so accompanied, and is separable on analysis.
Other things being equal, we like those who give
us pleasure ; and we dislike those who give us pain.
The main source of pleasure is the successful pursuit
of ends ; pain is given by every experience that
interferes with the successful pursuit of ends ; hence,
liking can always be traced, more or less directly,
to aid, dislike to opposition, offered to us by the
person liked or disliked. Our friends are those who
aid us, or show a disposition to aid us : our enemies
are those who oppose us, or exhibit a spirit of
opposition.

As has been said, the desires to be approved,
admired, and liked, often prompt to the same acts ;
and it is not always easy, even for the actor himself,

181

182 CONDUCT book n

to distinguish the motive that was most concerned.
In the class of acts that induce liking on the part
of others, there is an additional difficulty ; since
many acts that bring upon us the liking or disliking
of others, are undertaken from quite different motives,
and bring this result as a by-product, of which we
take no account in undertaking the act. Most of
the acts, by which we aid and assist other people
to attain their ends, are undertaken because we,
too, desire those ends ; and, in helping others, we
are forwarding our own interests. Many more are
undertaken from pure benevolence ; and in either
case, the fact that the aid we give to others tends
to make them like us, does not enter largely as a
motive in the act. Most of the acts by which we
oppose the ends of other people, and place obstacles
in their way, are done because we disapprove the
ends they seek, and certainly with no intention of
incurring their dislike. Certain conduct is, however,
undertaken for the sole purpose of gaining the liking
of others ; and in opposing their efforts, we are usually
prompted, by this motive, to frame our opposition
so as to avoid being disliked for it, or to reduce the
inevitable dislike to a minimum.

We like those who give us pleasure, and pleasure
arises from the successful pursuit of ends ; but this
is not the only source of pleasure. We are pleased
also when we have the consciousness that success is
likely ; and generally, when we feel capable. The
pleasure of health is the pleasure of capability. We
find pleasure in all skilful exercise of faculty, not
only for the success that attends the particular act,

CHAP. XII LOVABLE QUALITIES 183

but from the conviction it gives us of general capa-
bility — of the likelihood that we shall be successful
in other things. Anything, in short, that exalts
our own opinion of our own powers, is a source of
pleasure ; and such exaltation, of our opinion of our
powers in general, is even a greater source of satis-
faction than success in any particular instance.
Hence our liking for those who give us a good
opinion of ourselves. We like those who recognise
our abilities, or discern any good quality in us ; we
like those from whom we receive praise, deference,
and appreciation, even more than those from whom
we receive actual assistance. Praise, deference, and
appreciation may be awarded to the display of
laudable qualities, because they are extorted by
genuine admiration, and thus do not come into the
class of acts now considered ; but in as far as they
are not genuine, or are exaggerated, they are given
for a return in liking ; and in many cases, even when
thoroughly deserved, and not exaggerated, they are
paid in part only as genuine appreciation, in part
in order to secure liking in return.

In order to achieve our ends, it is necessary that
we should have liberty of action ; and those who
infringe this liberty, incur our dislike ; while those
who leave us a free field for endeavour, are liked for
doing so. As has been so often asserted, society
exists by virtue of the limitation of action of its
members, so as to leave to others freedom within
equal limits. Those who encroach upon what we
regard as our own legitimate and peculiar field of
action, are disliked ; and those who restrain them-

184 CONDUCT

selves, and allow us freedom of action without the
need of self-assertion, are liked for the pleasure they
afford. In small matters of daily intercourse, the
self-restraint that refuses to encroach on the liberty
of others ; the aid that is given in petty matters ;
retiring so as to allow even more liberty to others
than could strictly be claimed ; are called good
manners ; and good manners are assumed, partly
from pure benevolence, and then they are best
manners, and constitute the natural gentleman ; but
more often from the desire to be liked, and to avoid
being disliked ; and this desire they fulfil.

In common with other animals, man is imitative,
and the influence of imitation on conduct as a whole,
will be dealt with presently ; but it falls to be noticed
here that, in consequence of his innate tendency to
imitate, he is apt to take on the mood of those with
whom he associates. There are times when all com-
municate hopefulness to each other, and then credit
is good ; there are other times when all diffuse
pessimism, and credit is bad. The brave man in-
spires courage in his companions ; the panic-stricken
is apt to breed panic in others. Amongst other
qualities, cheerfulness and happiness are communi-
cable. In the presence of the cheerful, our spirits are
raised ; in the presence of misery, we are apt to be
depressed. Since the mere presence of cheerfulness
and high spirits gives us pleasure, we like those who
exhibit these qualities ; and, in spite of ourselves,
we cannot help a certain distaste for the society
of the miserable. It is a consciousness of these
eff'ects that makes us assume cheerfulness in the

cHAi. XII PERSONAI. CHARM 185

presence of others. If we feel miserable, we do
not parade our misery. We put a good face on
our misfortunes, and, in this respect also, modify
our conduct in order to avoid incurring the dislike
of our fellows.

There are some happily constituted people, who
exhibit a combination of cheerfulness, good manners,
and a demeanour which carries to others the convic-
tion that they are liked, that together constitute a
charm of manner, that renders them universally and
greatly liked. Charm of manner is notoriously diffi-
cult to analyse and explain ; but I think it will
be found to be composed of the ingredients I have
indicated.

Defect of the desire to be liked, and to avoid
dislike, is not frequent ; but it is not unknown.
Those, and they are not few, who delight to ' score '
off other people, to exercise their wit in malicious
sayings, are not by any means necessarily insensible
to the pleasure of being liked ; but either they do
not realise the dislike they incur, or they are unable
to sacrifice the triumph of the moment to the more
enduring pleasure of avoiding ill-will. There are,
however, a few people who seem to enjoy giving
pain by saying and doing ill-natured things, especi-
ally to those who cannot retaliate ; and this petty
tyranny finds its gratification in the display of power
at the expense of incurring dislike. Defect of less
degree is seen in those who pursue their ends in
opposition to the endeavour of others, without
attempts at conciliation, and even with unnecessary
offensiveness. Such people, however successful they

186 CONDUCT

BOOK II

may be, provide their own nemesis in widespread
dislike, which does not fail, sooner or later, to raise
difficulties that they need never have had to sur-
mount.

Excessive sensitiveness to the dislike of others is
not very infrequent. There are people whose fear
of giving ofience is raised to such a pitch, that it
seriously interferes with their endeavours ; and leads
them to forgo ends that they might legitimately
seek to attain, and to suffer uneasiness that is quite
uncalled for. They live in dread of offending people,
and interpret the most innocent acts as signs of
dislike. Such people are seriously handicapped in
the struggle for life.

Perversion of this form of conduct is by no means
unknown. It is not very rare for a blunderer to seek
to ingratiate himself by means that make him dis-
liked rather than liked ; and the gift of a white
elephant does not always elicit the gratitude that
is expected. That fine sense of appropriateness, that
chooses unerringly the mode of action that will most
arouse liking, and give the least offence, is termed
' tact ' ; and in tact, many people are conspicuously
deficient.

G. INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE WILL OF
OTHERS

Leading and Subordination

This is a well characterised and admitted deter-
minant of conduct. Among the many ways in
which men may be classified ; among the ways in

CHAP. XII FORCE OF CHARACTER 187

which we do, for practical purposes, classify the men
and women we meet ; none is more important than
that according to force of character ; a phrase not
very easy to define with strictness, perhaps because
we do not attach to it any very well-defined meaning;
but a phrase that, whatever else it includes, means
a power of resisting the wills of others, and of im-
pressing on others the will, so as to induce them to
act in accordance with it. Such force of character
goes with steadfastness of purpose ; but it is by no
means the same as steadfastness of purpose. There
are many who are capable of adhering with steady
tenacity to a single purpose, so long as they are not
interfered with by others of greater force of character
than themselves ; but who find themselves incapable
of resisting a diversion from the purpose, if this inter-
ference is forthcoming. Nothing is more difiicult
than to explain how this force of character is
exercised, or wherein resides the power of impressing
the will upon others. It is exercised, of course, by
physical expression ; but not by emphasis in ex-
pression. It is not the shouting dogmatist who com-
pels, by force of character, conformity with his will.
It is not persuasion. The result is not produced by
appeal to the reason, or by working on the emotions.
It is not altogether fear of the consequences of non-
compliance — of incurring anger or resentment. It is
that, in the presence of the man of strong character,
the man of weak character is overcrowed ; and finds
it impossible to insist upon his own will and his own
way. Force of character goes, no doubt, with courage,
and weakness of character may go with lack of courage;

188 CONDUCT

but superior courage does not yield a full explanation ;
and General Baynes is very far from being the only
man who has proved his courage, even to the point
of heroism, on the field of battle ; and yet has suc-
cumbed with humility to a domestic tyrant. It is
will that prevails. The strong will prevails over the
weaker, even though the weaker will may go with
the finer intellect ; and the person who carries out
the will of another against his own conviction, may
know in his heart that his own course is best. But
in spite of this knowledge, he yields. He gives way
to the stronger personality.

Neither force of character, nor its defect, is
associated with any particular physique. Each is
found in the physically strong and the physically
puny ; with giant stature and diminutive size. There
is, indeed, a certain physiognomy which gives in-
formation to the observer. Firmness and tone in the
facial muscles, and a steady eye, speak as eloquently
of strong character, as flabbiness of expression and a
wandering gaze do of one that is weak.

Of force of character, every possible shade and
grade is exhibited by difi"erent people ; but some are
so conspicuously deficient as to attract attention by
their defect, which brings them under the domination
of almost any one who chooses to exert domination
over them ; and to these the title of ' Facile ' is given
in Scotch law. The facile person is a person who has
' no will of his own.' Often he feels his own in-
firmity, mistrusts his own judgment, and alters his
conduct every time fresh advice is given to him.
Often he places himself, or falls, under the dominance

FACILITY 189

of some one person of greater force of character ; and,
if that person is not disinterested, may suffer severely
by doing so. By Scotch law, facile persons may be
sequestered from the management of their property,
which is placed under the care of a guardian. English
law, with its characteristic reluctance to interfere
with the liberty of the subject, allows the facile
person to be stripped of his property by adventurers
with stronger wills than his own ; but it generously
allows him to bring actions against his despoilers,
and to recover as much of his property as may be
left, provided he can prove that he was moved to
part with it by undue influence.

There can scarcely be excess in force of character.
The stronger a man's character, the more certain is
he, caeteris paribus, to make a success of his life.
Men of great force of character, and they alone, attain
great success, become leaders of men, and occupy
influential positions in the world. Whatever his ex-
ternal and adventitious advantages, the weak man
goes to the wall, and yields place to the strong.
In every assembly and combination of men ; in
every legislature, or club, or committee, or associ-
ation for work or play ; some one or two men
of strongest character come to the front, and lead ;
the rest are compelled, more or less contentedly, to
follow.

Men of strong character are often termed obstinate ;
but obstinacy and force of character, though they
often go together, are not the same thing. Just as
an aggressive demeanour is often adopted by the shy
man to conceal his shyness ; so a weak man often

190 CONDUCT BOOK II

exhibits obstinacy to conceal his weakness. A
man may be obstinate as a mule, without having
that power of impressing his will on others, which
is the distinguishing mark of the man of strong
character.

CHAPTER XIII

H. INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE EXAMPLE OF
OTHERS

Custom and Fashion

We have seen that, for the maintenance of social life,
it is necessary that the conduct of each individual
should conform with the conduct of the rest. If a
flock or a herd, or a pack, is to remain a flock, or a
herd, or a pack, its members must all move together,
in the same direction, and at the same rate. If some
remain at rest, while others go on, the community is
disintegrated. If some go north, while others go
south, east, and west, the community is disintegrated.
If some gallop, while others trot, and others walk,
the community will be disintegrated ; and, as a
community, will cease to exist. For a community
to continue in existence, it is necessary that its
members should act alike — that the action of each
should conform with the action of all.

If some of the members of a tribe fraternise with
a neighbouring tribe, while other members attack it ;
the tribe will be divided against itself, will be split
into factions, and disintegrated ; and if, without
action for and against its neighbours, some members

191

192 CONDUCT book n

of the tribe are favourably disposed towards them,
while others are hostile; though there may be no actual
disintegration, there is incipient disintegration. The
bonds of union of the tribe are slackened. It is no
longer as firmly united. An action is begun, which,
if it proceeds, will result in actual disintegration.
Any influence, therefore, which tends to prevent
difference of opinion, and diff'erence of inclination,
among the members of the tribe, helps to preserve
the tribe ; and for this reason, those tribes in which
difference of opinion, and diff'erence of inclination, are
frowned upon, discountenanced, and disapproved, will,
caeteris paribus, prevail against those in which such
diff'erences are tolerated. Nor let it be thought that
it is only differences of opinion with respect to who
are to be fought and who are to be welcomed, that
is important to the integrity of a society. All
differences of opinion, indicating, as they do, tenden-
cies to diff'erences of action, are disintegrative. As
long as all the members of a community hold the
same religious belief, for instance, this common
opinion forms a bond of union between them ; hold-
ing them together, not only in unison of opinion
and thought, but in physical propinquity. If the
community becomes divided into sects, holding
different tenets, and practising diff"erent ceremonials,
not only is there a difference in mind, but this differ-
ence soon tends to physical disintegration. The
members of the new sect hold together, and, in as
far as their mutual bondsl are strong, their bonds to
the rest of the community are weakened. They
associate together more, and associate less with the

cHAP.x.ii CUSTOM AND FASHION 103

rest of the community ; they intermarry among
themselves, and look askance upon mixed marriages ;
they favour their co-religionists in business ; they
regard themselves, and are regarded, as apart from
the rest of the community ; and not infrequently
they are thrust out of it, as in the case of the Hugue-
nots ; or they leave it, as in the case of the Pilgrim
Fathers ; or they are exterminated, as in the case of
the Albigenses. Hence we find that, in every com-
munity, conformity, not only of the conduct, but
of the opinion, of each, with the conduct and opinion
of the rest, is regarded with approval ; and conduct
and opinion that do not conform to the common
standard, meet with strong reprobation, and what is
more, with vigorous suppression. Hence, too, we
find, strongly implanted among the instincts of every
member of the community, is the instinct to conform,
to do as others do, to fall in with the prevailing mode
of action. To be singular is to incur the disapproval,
not only of others, but of ourselves. Each member
of a community has a natural and instinctive repulsion
against outraging convention. He desires to do as
others do, not merely to escape the disapprobation
of others that non-conformity incurs, but because
non-conformity is inherently distasteful to him.
This instinctive repulsion has its origin in social
need, and in the operation of natural selection.

Conformity is, of course, imitation of the example
of others ; but there is a clear distinction between
conformity and imitation. The child's action in
learning to write is imitative, but it is not con-
forming. The child imitates the writing it is told

194 CONDUCT

to copy ; but he does so, not because every one else
writes, and he is unwilling to be singular. He learns
to write because he is told to learn. Nor is the
motive of his parents and teachers the desire of
conformity, at any rate in origin. The child is
taught to write, not because illiteracy is singular, but
because writing is useful. So the artisan, in learning
his trade, imitates the action of his seniors, and learns
by imitation to do the work thus and so ; not because
it is the fashion to do it thus and so, but because
thus and so it can be most effectively done. In
short, conforming action is necessarily imitative, but
imitative action is not necessarily conforming. The
early disciples of every new prophet, in every depart-
ment of life — in art, in literature, in manufacture,
in professions, in social experiments, and what not —
are imitative of their prophet ; but they are non-
conforming to the great body of the community.

The influence of the instinct of conformity is seen
in every department of life ; from the games of
children, to the fundamental doctrines and practices
of religion ; from the decoration of a dinner-table, to
the ceremonial of a coronation ; from the first cloth-
ing of the new-born babe, to the cerements of the
dead.

Conformity is of two diff'erent kinds, or is
exhibited in two different ways — simultaneous and
successive. When each person does what every one
else is doing, his conformity is simultaneous, and he
is said to follow the fashion ; when he does what has
always been done, his conformity is successive, and
he is said to follow custom. Following fashion is

CHAP. XIII

CUSTOM AND FASHION 195

based on imitation ; following custom is based on
habit : both are modes of conformity.

Again, conformity may be intended or unintended.
We may follow the fashion, or adhere to custom, in-
tentionally, knowing and avowing that we do so
for that reason ; or we may do either unintentionally,
believing that we do so from some other motive, but
in fact prompted by the instinct of conformity. In
following fashion, we usually do so intentionally,
knowing that we do so, in order to conform with
what others are doing. In adhering to custom, we
usually act with no such intention ; and in full faith
ascribe our action to some other motive. The rules
are by no means invariable ; but they hold good over
a large range of conduct.

We are accustomed to think of fashion as change-
able ; but fashion is not necessarily changeable.
Fashion is that conduct, whether changeable or
continuous, to which all conform at the same time.
Thus, a fashion, if it endures, becomes a custom ; and
a custom, so long as it endures, is a fashion ; but,
while continuity is the essence of custom, fashion is
independent of continuity or change. The difference
between fashion and custom is a difference of motive.
Fashion is followed because it is now generally
followed ; custom is followed because it has been
generally followed in the past.

Fashion is not necessarily changeable. Very
many fashions are, it is true, notoriously short-lived ;
but even fashions in dress, which are, perhaps, the
shortest-lived of all, are not necessarily short-lived.
In many countries, the fashion in dress remains the

196 CONDUCT

same for many generations ; and in certain respects
it remains for long periods the same in all countries.
In such cases, fashion merges into custom. In
Western Europe the fashion in dress for women is
to wear skirts ; and this fashion has been a custom
for many generations ; but as it is now followed by
each, not because it has been the custom for many
generations, but because every one else now follows
it. It is followed as a fashion, and not as a custom.

A fashion is that which is generally done ; but the
converse is not true. That which every one does is
not necessarily a fashion. Every one eats and
drinks ; but no one eats and drinks because every one
else does so. The manner and time of eating and
drinking are, however, largely matters of fashion.
Every one in the same social position, eats at the
same time, of much about the same number of
courses, served in very much the same way, on
tables with the same class of furniture and decora-
tion. Some of these things are done by all, because
all find them equally convenient or pleasant ; but
most of them are done by each, because they are
done generally — for the sake of conformity, or to
be in the fashion.

It is natural to suppose, on a priori grounds, that
the influence of fashion and custom would be most
conspicuous in those modes of activity that I call
unremunerative, or indirectly vital ; that is to say
in recreation, in aesthetics, in ceremonial, and in
religion ; and would scarcely be perceptible in such
vital concerns as marital and parental conduct, self-
conservative and social conduct, on which the welfare.

CHAP. XIII CUSTOM AND FASHION 197

and the very existence, of the race depend. It would
seem that, in matters of vital importance, it would
be very unsafe to regulate our conduct merely
by fashion or custom, and that one should be
guided by some more rational and safer principle.
In fact, however, we find that, although the sway
of fashion and custom is very powerful among the
indirectly vital modes of conduct, their influence, so
far from being confined to these modes, extends with
equal, and even greater tyranny, to conduct of the
most vital importance. Fashion is paramount in
matter of adornment, whether of the person, the
house, the garden or the implements of life. In our
dress ; in the colours and patterns of carpets, and
curtains, and wall-papers ; in the shapes and materials
of all the ornaments, of person, table, and house ; in
the arrangements of our gardens ; in the very shapes
of our houses ; in games, sports, and recreations of
all kinds ; we follow fashion with slavish devotion.
It is true that, in the matter of adornment, we think
we are pursuing beauty for its own sake ; and that
we adopt certain methods of ornamentation because
they are intrinsically beautiful ; but in fact,' the great
majority of us think those things beautiful which are
generally agreed to be beautiful. We follow the
fashion, and imagine we are prompted by another
motive. It is the same with games and recreations.
In every school there is a season for marbles and a
season for peg-top. First one game, and then
another becomes the fashion, and is followed by each
because it is followed by all ; and the parents of the
schoolboys are similarly swayed. People play those

198 CONDUCT BOOK II

games that they fiud other people playing ; and
although several other motives enter into the decision,
the main reason why each person now plays bridge
who formerly played whist, is that he finds other
people playing bridge, and conforms to the fashion.
A few years ago, every one bicycled, those who liked
it and those who did not, but bicycled because other
people bicycled. Now we all play golf; and for the
same reasons.

Powerful as is the influence of fashion in non- vital
modes of conduct, the influence of custom in the
vital modes is scarcely less important. Custom
dictates with imperious edict the class from which
the marital partner is to be sought. In primitive
communities, custom compels that marriage must be
endogenous or exogenous, as the case may be ; and
in more advanced communities, custom forbids
marriage into another race, or even into another
social class. The white may not marry the black,
whether the black is Hamitic or Aryan. A member
of the royal family may not marry outside of royal
families. Mesalliances of all kinds are forbidden
by custom ; and if greater laxity seems to have
been allowed of late years, it is not because custom is
less tyrannous, but because boundaries between classes
are breaking down. Nor is marital conduct the only
form of vital conduct that is dictated by custom.
The mode of earning the livelihood is similarly
prescribed. In this country, the barriers are breaking
down between the landed class and the professional
class ; between the professional class and the trad-
ing class ; between the trading class and the artisan

CHAP. XI ri

CUSTOM AND FASHION 199

class ; between the artisan class and the labouring
class ; but it was only yesterday that they became
passable ; and even now, though transition from one
class to the next is permitted, transition from any
class to the next but one is forbidden by custom.
A member of the professional class may not become
an artisan ; nor a shopkeeper's son a labourer ; and
vice versa. In other communities the prohibition is
far more rigid. The Hindu is forbidden, not only
to marry outside his caste, but to adopt any occupa-
tion but that into which he is born.

In many matters of social conduct also, the sway
of custom is paramount. As has been shown, the
root of morality is in social advantage ; but we do
not approve acts because we recognise them to be
socially advantageous, nor is social disadvantage the
reason that we avow for disapproving acts that we
consider immoral. In these matters, we are guided
very largely by custom. It is custom, and custom
alone, that sanctions the practice of suttee. Custom
accounts for the reverence and admiration with which
a monarch of very moderate intelligence, and very
questionable morality, such as George IV. or William
IV., is regarded. Custom prescribes that the mode
of inflicting capital punishment in England shall be
hanging, in France the guillotine, in Spain the
garrotte. Custom prescribes the swaddling clothes of
the infant, the veil of the bride, the posture of the
lying-in woman, the cerements of the dead, and the
disposal of the corpse. Here the bodies of the dead
are buried, there they are burnt ; in this place they
are exposed to be eaten by the fowls of the air, in

200 CONDUCT book n

that, they are mummified and preserved ; in a third
they are eaten by the survivors ; and in each case
the treatment of the dead is determined by custom.

The enormous importance of custom will be
recognised, when it is remembered that it is to
custom that law owes its origin. In early stages of
society, custom and law are identical ; and even in
the advanced stage of society that we now see, not
only is much law founded on custom, and little more
than elaborated custom ; but much custom has the
sanction of penalties that, though not formally
legal, yet partake of the nature of law, in being
enforced by general approval ; and, in some cases,
by Courts that are outside the law, and yet are
imitations of Courts of Law, and adopt some of the
methods, and much of the formality of Courts of
Law,

The common law, which has jurisdiction over
almost the whole of the English-speaking race, owes
its origin entirely to custom. It is the embodiment
of the custom that existed in the primitive Germanic
tribes from which our race is sprung ; elaborated and
modified from time to time, to bring it into harmony
with successive states of society, Koman law is the
embodiment and elaboration of Latin custom ; and
even the statute law, which has been created to
supply the deficiencies, which the increasing com-
plexity and the advancing humanity of society
discover in the common law, — even the statute law
is interpreted by rules which owe their origin to
custom. So Ijinding is the force of custom, so
paramount its influence in law, that the plain words

CHAP. XIII CUSTOM AND FASHION 201

of a statute are often overridden by custom, which
requires them to be interpreted in a sense foreign to
their apparent meaning.

This is not the only respect in which law is power-
less against the force of custom. The killing of a
man in a duel is murder in law, and was murder for
many generations in which the law could not be en-
forced ; for custom was too strong for law. In
Germany, where as here, murder is murder in the eye
of the law, custom not only sanctions duelling, but
makes it in some cases compulsory ; and in the face
of this custom, law is powerless.

When we speak of fashion, we are apt to think
only of dress and adornment ; but fashion has a
potent influence on conduct in many other matters.
Wherever two or three are gathered together in one
place, each will tend to do as the rest are doing ;
and if we add to the imitative instinct, the other
instinct, already considered, which impels us to seek
the applause of our fellows, we shall understand why
it is that the conduct of crowds is often outrageous.
Each strives to follow the fashion, and do what the
others are doing ; and beyond this, each seeks to
outdo the others, and so gain applause. When
many are seeking to outdo each other in a particular
mode of conduct, exaggeration of that mode of
conduct is a natural consequence. The influence of
all upon each has some proportion to the number
of the * all.' A sturdy individuality of character,
that can hold out, and pursue its own way, un-
influenced by the contrary example of a few, finds
more and more difliculty in maintaining independence

202 CONDUCT

of action, as the number of examples to the contrary
is increased. Hence, caeteris paribus, the larger the
crowd, the more unanimous it is, provided it is not
too large for rapid communication between all its
parts. Wherever there is a crowd, there is something
that brings the crowd together. Usually it is met
together under the influence of some common emotion
or desire ; and a way of expressing this emotion or
desire occurs to one, or perhaps to several, and
rapidly spreads to the rest. When each finds all
around, him acting in a certain way, and especially
when each desires the same end, the impulsion is
almost irresistible to act as the others are acting, in
order to attain that end ; and more, to outdo the
rest in that mode of action. When each strives to
outdo the rest, action easily becomes outrageous.
Even if one of the crowd discerns what seems to
him a better way of attaining the common end, his
own judgment, unless he is a person of unusually
strong character, is subordinated to the judgment
of the rest. He thinks he must be wrong, and the
others right ; or, even if he continues of his own
opinion, he is overborne in action, and impelled to
follow the fashion of the moment. Hence, the
members of a crowd will do, as members of a crowd,
acts that no one of them would do singly ; and
corporate action is almost always less reasonable,
and usually less moral, than individual action in
similar circumstances. This is generally recognised,
and expressed in the saying that a committee has
neither a soul to be saved nor a body to be kicked.
Even bodies of picked men, the (^lite of a nation, —

CHAP, xin

CUSTOM AND FASHION 203

even governments and Cabinets — are guilty of
prevarications, subterfuges, evasions, and mean-
nesses, whicli no individual member of them would
think of dointr. The reason would seem to be that
corporate action is, in social matters, a more primitive
mode of action than individual initiative. The unit
of society is not the individual, but the family ;
and, through many ages of incipient social life, the
preservation and survival of the incipient society
depended on the unity of corporate action. Whether
the corporate action was right or wrong, wise or
unwise, prudent or imprudent, was of far less
moment to preservation and survival, than whether
it was unanimous. If the members acted in unison
wrongly, or unwisely, or imprudently, the society
might survive. It would probably be damaged. It
might lose some, perhaps many, of its members.
But what was left of it would still be a social body.
If some acted in one way and some in another,
individuals might survive ; but the social body
would be disintegrated, and, as a social body, would
perish ; and in the destruction of the social body,
the individuals, however prudent, however wise,
who pursued an independent course of action, would
also perish. Some flavour of its primitive origin
still hangs about corporate action. Corporate action
is, by its origin and nature, more primitive in char-
acter than action on individual initiative ; and being
more primitive, it seeks its ends by ways that are,
upon the whole, more direct, less intelligent, and
less moral.

It is in ceremonial that the sway of custom is

204 CONDUCT book n

most absolute. Ceremonial, whether in the Court,
or in Courts of Law, or in religious observance, or
in social intercourse, is regulated almost entirely by
custom. No doubt the ceremonial does change with
lapse of time. We profess ourselves ' most obedient
servants ' in writing only now ; we bow more seldom,
and we curtsy not at all ; but we still open our
Courts of Law with the Norman-French Oyez, Oyez,
of eight centuries ago ; our prelates still wear their
copes, and carry their crosiers ; our barons still, on
ceremonial occasions, wear their coronets and their
ermine ; and, in controversies on the proper ecclesi-
astical ceremonial, we take our stand avowedly on
antiquity. That is right which prevailed in the
third century, or the sixth century, as the case
may be.

The sway of fashion is subtle and far-reaching.
It affects, not only our voluntary acts, but the very
functions of our bodies, and seems to extend even to
physical conformation. From a hundred and fifty
years ago to a time some of us can remember, it
was the fashion to faint away, or swoon, on occasions
of stress and emotion. In the novels of Richardson,
and of later date, down to the middle of the last
century, the heroine, and even the hero, swooned
when they parted, and swooned when they met ;
swooned when they received a letter, and swooned
when they wrote one ; swooned when they heard
bad news, and swooned when they heard good.
And these swoons were perfectly genuine. The
syncope was real. The heart's action was suspended.
But no one swoons now. Swooning is out of fashion.

cHAi. XIII CUSTOM AND P^ASHION 205

In religious revivals, the groans, and shouts, and
gesticulations, are voluntary, or semi-voluntary, but
the swoons and the convulsions that are sometimes
exhibited, are involuntary results of fashion. In
the so-called ' aesthetic ' craze of the 'eighties of the
last century, it was astonishing to find the women
presenting a certain type of features which formed
part of the fashion. The tousled hair could be
arranged ; the leanness could be produced by re-
striction of diet ; but the hatchet faces, the prominent
chins, the hollow eyes, the thin noses, that character-
ised multitudes of the votaries of the cult, had not
been seen before, and have not been seen since, in
anything approaching the number and proportion
of the population that then obtained.

Conformity with custom is more important, bio-
logically, than conformity with fashion, and the
instinct of continuing to do what has heretofore
been done, is more dominant than the instinct of
doing what others are now doing. Those who fail
to conform to fashion, are scorned and derided ; but
those who innovate upon custom, are hated and
persecuted. Continuity of action is more strictly
safeguarded than conformity of action ; and pre-
sumably, therefore, is more important to the conserva-
tion of society. In every department of life, the
sway of custom is tyrannous. From the games of
children, to the solemn observances of religion : from
the consumption of hot cross buns on Good Friday,
to the elaborate ceremonies of a coronation ; from
the hanging up of mistletoe at Christmas, to the
procedure of Courts of Justice, and the mode of

206 CONDUCT

signifying the approval of the Sovereign of the
statutes passed by Parliament; custom rules the
roost.

Neither in adhering to custom, nor in following
the fashion, do we always know the motive of our
action. Especially in adhering to custom, we are
apt to suppose that we do so for some other reason
than the mere desire to continue action that is
become customary. Ordinarily, we follow custom
because it is customary, and do not seek for any
motive ; but if a motive is demanded, we grope
about for it, and find it, perhaps, in something
which we consider ought to have influenced us, but
which in fact was never in our thoughts. The
natives of India do not avow any motive for follow-
ing the custom of caste, any more than they avow a
motive for walking on two limbs rather than on four.
To them, caste is part of the order of nature ; and
needs no more motive than sleeping or waking.
Neither does it often occur to us to ask why a bride
should be dressed in white, or should wear a veil.
We accept the custom without inquiry. But if
inquiry is made, the answer we get is often not the
true answer. It is an answer invented to serve the
occasion — invented in all good faith, and believed to
be true, but still it is wide of the mark. If, for
instance, we ask why Latin is, or was for generations,
the main subject taught in every school, we are told
that it is because it is an unparalleled mental
exercise ; because it is the foundation of a good
style of speaking and writing ; because it is necessary
to the knowledge of English ; and twenty other

CHAl'. XIII

CUSTOM AND FASHION 207

reasons which are transparently incorrect. The real
motive, that it is customary, is not wilfully con-
cealed : it is unknown, unrecognised; and the motives
assigned are believed to be the true motives. Only
occasionally, as for instance, in the style of dress, is
the real motive of following fashion or custom,
recognised and avowed to be the desire to do what

o

others are doing, or have done.

Following the fashion has its origin in that
biological necessity for uniformity of action on the
part of members of a community, that has been
several times referred to ; and, given the consequent
instinctive desire, and the ever present example,
needs no further explanation. But conformity with
custom, though custom be no more than unchanging
fashion, needs more accounting for, for the opportun-
ity of following custom is much less continuous
than that of following fashion. What is generally
being done is constantly in levidence before us ; but
what has been generally done by them of old time,
does not necessarily come before us continually, or
even frequently. Many customs are followed only at
certain times of year, such as decorating with holly at
Christmas ; wearing new clothes at Easter ; choosing
valentines in February ; and so forth. Others are
followed only on certain occasions in life ; as at
birth, marriage, death, the execution of deeds,
crossing the equator, and so forth ; others, again, on
certain anniversaries, as on birthdays, Guy Fawkes
day, Calf's Head day, and so forth. In inquiring into
the origin of custom, as of fashion, two things have
to be clearly distinguished. We must recognise a

208 CONDUCT

BOOK II

clear distinction between the origin of the particular
custom or fashion, and the origin of the habit of
following custom or fashion, apart from any particular
observance. The origin of particular customs and
fashions is postponed for the moment. The origin
of instinctive desire to conform with fashion, we have
already found ; and since custom is but fashion that
has been long unchanged, it seems that no further
explanation of following custom is needed ; but the
intermittent occurrence of many customs, the rarity
of occasion for many of them, marks a distinction
between fashion and custom, and makes some further
explanation necessary. When a custom is followed
but once a year, or once in a lifetime; and on an
isolated occasion, when the same action is not at the
time being followed by others ; it can scarcely be
said to be done because it is being generally done.
It is done, no doubt, because it is generally done by
others on similar occasions in their lives ; but it is
not done because it is now being done. It is done
for the sake of continuity in succession of perform-
ance ; not for the sake of conformity of simultaneous
performance. While it is easy to see that, if all the
members of a society scatter simultaneously in
different directions, the society will be dispersed and
will cease to exist ; it is by no means so clear that if
they all simultaneously alter their mode of action
from what has previously been the rule, the same
consequence will follow. Hence, conformity with
custom requires an explanation beyond that needed
for conformity with fashion. And we have seen that
conformity with custom is more strictly safeguarded

CHAP, xin CUSTOM AND FASHION 209

than conformity with fashion. The penalties that
attach to a breach of custom are, on the whole, more
severe than those that are visited on a departure
from fashion ; and conformity with custom would
seem, therefore, to be socially more important.

The great advantage of adherence to custom,
would seem to be that it is a safeguard against the
risks that attend novelty of action. Custom ensures
the preservation of modes of action, that the experience
of past generations has proved to be beneficial. It
ensures that each generation profits by the experi-
ence of previous generations ; and does not need
to discover for itself, by the wasteful and perilous
process of trial and error, the best ways of dealing
with recurring circumstances. It is true that many
customs are mere ceremonials, and have, apparently,
no immediate bearing on the welfare and survival of
the society in which they prevail ; but it would be a
mistake to suppose that ceremonial observance has
no bearing on the stability of society ; and many
customary modes of action are not ceremonial.
Moreover, if the instinct is of value in certain
matters, it is certain, as with other instincts, to
overflow into other regions, in which its value is
less apparent. Customary action is a substitute for
instinctive action. It provides, for a given set of
recurring circumstances, a mode of action that can be
adopted without any laborious reasoning process, — a
mode of action that has grown up and been elaborated
in the course of preceding generations, and has been
found effectual by them. We have seen, in a previous
chapter, how novel action, as it becomes first habitual,

p

210 CONDUCT

and then automatic, approximates in nature to
instinctive action ; we now see another approach to
instinctive action, made in another way — not in
the course of a single lifetime, by the repetition of
action in a single individual, but in the course
of generations, by the repetition of the same mode
of action by many successive individuals. I have
repeatedly spoken of conformity with custom as
instinctive action ; and I now speak of customary
action as a substitute for instinctive action — as
quasi -instinctive ; but the statements are not
inconsistent. The desire to follow custom is a
true instinct ; inasmuch as it is innate, fixed, in-
variable, the same in all ; but the particular custom
that is followed is an accident. It depends on the
custom that happens to prevail in the community to
which the individual belongs. If the custom were
just the opposite of what it is, he would follow
it with equal avidity. In short, the instinctive
element in the act is not the following of the
particular custom, but the general mode of acting
in accordance with custom, whatever the custom
may happen to be.

The origin of particular customs is, in many cases,
obscure ; in many is lost in the mists of antiquity ;
but the instinct of following custom must have had its
origin, like other instincts, in the biological advantage
that it bestows ; and most, if not all, customs must
have had a similar origin. We argue the biological
advantage, at any rate in primitive communities, of
the instinct of adhering to custom, from its strength
and universality in such communities. In all

CHAP, x.u CUSTOM AND FASHION 211

primitive communities, adherence to custom is rigid
and tyrannous ; and, in view of the decided
disadvantages of certain customs, this dominance
of customary action would not prevail unless the
countervailing advantages were very great. I do not
say that the utility of any customary observance is
necessarily perceived by those who practise it. In
many cases, they would be puzzled to assign to it
any utilitarian function ; in many cases, the utility
that they do assign to it is imaginary, as in the case
of teaching of Latin ; but it must have had, at the time
of its origin, some biological advantage, or it would
not have become customary ; or, if this is not true of
every case, it must be true that on balance, and in
the long run, the customs of a community must be
beneficial to it. For those communities whose
customs were adverse to their welfare, would perish
before the competition of those whose customs were
advantageous ; and the latter would survive and
flourish. In primitive communities, especially, in
which a very large part of conduct is regulated by
custom, the customs that are prevalent must be, on
balance, beneficial, or the community would perish.
Whether or no individual customs are beneficial or not,
and it is difiicult to see what benefit to the community
can arise from the couvade, or from infanticide, or
from the infliction of deformities ; it is certain that
the instinct of adhering to custom, whatever the
custom may be, must in the long run, be of great
biological advantage in primitive communities.

The complement of adherence to custom is opposi-
tion to change ; and we find this instinct very strongly

212 CONDUCT

developed in most people, and especially in people
of primitive cast of mind, — in children, in unadvanced
communities, and in the dull. The degree in which
this instinct is developed is, in fact, a rough measure
of the grade of reason of its possessor. Any change
in customary modes of conduct, unless it is adopted
simultaneously by the whole community, is resisted
with tenacity, and usually with acrimony, unless it
is a mode of conduct that is customarily changeable.
Generally, the more primitive the society, the fewer
modes of conduct are subject to change ; and the
more developed the society, the more tolerant is it of
change, and the more modes of conduct are changeable
without opposition ; but even in societies that we
consider highly developed, change, in matters that
are not customarily subject to change, is instinctively
resisted. We have seen of late years a passionate
resistance to the change of throwing professions open
to women ; and we see it now in the resistance to
admitting them to the suffrage.

History is one long record of resistance to change
of custom — resistance that has always been strenuous,
often sanguinary, and usually at length overcome.
The history of religious custom, in all ages and all
countries, has been the history of a bloody retaliation
on innovation ; and even in the most advanced com-
munities, religious persecution is far from extinct.
Social and industrial history repeat the tale. In
very many cases, vested interests combine with
instinctive disinclination in opposition to change ;
but in many, the opposition is purely, or largely,
instinctive. The persons interested in stage-coaches.

CHANGE OF CUSTOM 213

formed but a minority of those who opposed the
introduction of railways ; and the equally strenuous
opposition, which is now forgotten, to, the macadamisa-
tion of roads, could not have had a large support
from vested interests. It required a national disaster
to supersede by book-keeping, the keeping of the
national accounts by wooden tallies. The establish-
ment of the penny post was opposed as violently as
the application of chloroform to mitigate the pains
of labour. Changes of spelling, which would tend to
brevity, simplicity, to the clearing of confusion in
pronunciation, and to the elucidation of etymology,
are prevented by the instinctive opposition to change.
Every change of social conditions, however manifestly
beneficial, requires, even nowadays, when change is
become frequent and normal, elaborate organisation,
and much expense of money and labour, to bring it
about. In every department of conduct, change of
custom is achieved at the cost of much labour, much
time, and much odium.

Yet custom does change, it may be by unnoticeable
degrees, it may be with startling abruptness ; but it
changes ; and our task is to find the causes by which
change of custom is produced. The changes of fashion
are notorious for their rapidity and want of reason,
and these also are to be accounted for.

Probably the earliest and the most frequently -
acting solvent, that softens the rigid carapace of
custom and renders it pliant, is the conflict of
customs that arises from the intercourse of different
communities having different customs. Primitive
communities grow in nearly complete isolation ; and

214 CONDUCT

even in highly developed communities, a large part
of the nation has usually but little intercourse with
other nations ; but in the life of every community,
occasions arise, with more or less frequency, on which
a part or the whole of the community is brought into
contact with customs different from its own ; and
this contact, and the resulting comparison, tend to
disturb the uniformity of both the compared customs.
The chief mode of contact between communities is,
of course, war ; and in primitive communities, the
contact of war is very complete. The whole, or the
greater part, of the primitive community, takes part
in war ; and war often results in the conquest and
absorption of one community by another. In such a
case, the conquered, though absorbed and merged in
the conquerors, may retain to a large extent their
own customs ; and then two bodies of custom will
exist side by side, with the result that each will
modify the other ; and although one may eventually
prevail, it will be changed in the process. It will be
in some respects modified by the other. Thus, the
great anniversaries of the Christian Church are
adopted from the pagan rites that they superseded.
Feudal law and common law both survived, but each
acted on and modified the other. History records
many cases of the conquering race adopting, with
more or fewer modifications, the religion, the
language, the laws of the conquered ; and when the
conquered have been forced to adopt the customs
of the conquerors, these customs have always been
modified in the process of adoption. In this way,
not only are customs changed, but the very fact that

CHAP. XIII CHANGE OF CUSTOM 215

they are clianged, tends to familiarise people with
the notion that custom can be changed ; and thus
prepares the way for future changes.

A similar influence is exerted by the peaceful
incorporation into a nation, of alien individuals,
especially when the immigration is copious. The
immigrants bring with them their own customs, and
two sets of customs cannot exist side by side, without
mutually modifying each other. It was the large
importation into Imperial Rome, of immigrants from
the provinces, that paved the way for the adoption
of the Christian religion. The immigrants were
themselves pagans, but they were pagans professing
many different religions, and the existence, side by
side, of many diff'erent religious faiths, loosened the
ties of all, and facilitated the adoption of a new faith.
The two nations of the modern world in which
custom is least binding, and new modes of conduct
meet with least opposition, are England and the
United States of America ; and these are the
countries that have received immigrants in the
largest numbers.

An influence similar in character, though less in
degree, is exerted by contact and intercourse with
people of alien customs, without actual incorporation.
Caeteris paribus, it is the commercial nations, such
as England and Holland, in which custom is most
flexible ; the isolated nations, such as India and
China, in which the power of custom is most
dominant. Intercourse with other nations was the
primary cause of the break-up of custom in Japan.

It is doubtful whether any recognition of the

216 CONDUCT

disadvantage attending any mode of customary action,
would, of itself, be enough to break the custom,
unless some of the foregoing influences had already
been at work, to weaken the instinct of observance
of custom ; but when once the sacred character of
customary observance is infringed and weakened, the
way is open to departure from any particular custom
that is especially burdensome, or that is no longer
applicable to an altered state of society. Once a
breach is made in any custom, and the whole
customal of that society is weakened in security ;
and, the preliminary condition being satisfied, it is
the perception of positive disadvantages in a custom
that leads, usually after a bitter struggle, to its
defeat and discontinuance. As nations advance in
social aptitude, and the social bond is maintained by
the direct desire to aid, support, and serve the com-
munity as a whole, and its individual members ; the
indirect bonds, of which adhesion to custom is one,
become less necessary to social conservation ; and may
be dispensed with, without consequent weakening of
the social union. In advanced nations, therefore,
customs may be dispensed with, and the general
observance of custom may be slackened and weakened,
to an extent that would speedily bring about the
dissolution of a more primitive community. Such
slackening of custom must, however, be made
cautiously and gradually, if the social bond is not
to suffer ; and we must therefore welcome the
stubborn opposition to change, that compels every
departure from custom to justify itself completely
before it is adopted.

CHAP. XIII CHANGE OF FASHION 217

Changes of mere fashion are more readily allowed
than changes of custom ; and the reason is clear. If
the fashion has been long in existence, it is not a
mere fashion, but a fashion that has become a custom.
If it is a mere fashion, it is the product of compara-
tively recent change ; and there is no resentment
against change of things in which change is customary.
For there may be a custom to change as well as a
custom not to change ; and when change in any
department of conduct is customary, it would be a
departure from custom to refrain from changing the
fashion. Still, the instinctive desire to do as others
are doing is very strong, and a departure from fashion
requires explanation.

At the root of change of fashion is desire for change,
an instinctive desire that is intimately connected
with the constitution of the nervous system and of
the mind. Psychologists tell us that all conscious-
ness depends on change; and that an unchanging
state of consciousness is a state of unconsciousness.
Physiologists tell us that the nervous system is a
storehouse of motion, constantly filling and constantly
needing expenditure ; and both are agreed that the
changes of mind are correlated with the activity of
nerve function. We have seen in a previous chapter,
that there are two modes ^in which conduct is
originated. Conduct is originated by the outbreak
of accumulated motion, that has reached a point of
tension no longer controllable by inherent resistance
to its discharge ; and is originated also by the pro-
vocation and elicitation of impinging impressions.
The accumulation of motion, as it approaches the

218 CONDUCT book n

bursting-point, is attended with feelings of uneasiness,
increasing to the massive misery that is experienced
by the captive and the prisoner, to whom normal
activity is denied. The denial of opportunity for the
expenditure of motion in spontaneous conduct, is well
recognised to be attended with pain and misery.
What is, perhaps, less well recognised, is that denial
of the opportunity for the expenditure of motion by
elicitation is also painful. Expenditure of motion in
this way cannot, ex hypothesi, take place, except in
response to impression ; and impression is not pro-
duced except by change of circumstances. Hence
the longing for change of circumstances. The
monotony of long continued sameness, becomes at
length intolerable. As with so many other desires,
we do not in the least recognise or appreciate the
physiological or psychological source of the longing ;
all we appreciate is that the longing exists, and
demands satisfaction. From time to time, a change
of circumstances comes to be ardently desired. This
is why the townsman retreats into the country, and
the countryman takes his holiday in town ; this is
the motive of foreign travel ; this is why we discard
a garment before it is worn out ; this is the greater
part of the attraction of shows, pageants, theatres,
and assemblies of all kinds ; this is why some move
their furniture, others their residence ; and so forth ;
and this is the motive that lies at the root of changes
of fashion. If change is desired, and if conformity
with the doings of others is desired, then the com-
bination of these two desires leads direct to a change
of fashion.

CHAP. XIII

CHANGE OF FASHION 219

Granted, however, that all desire change, and all
desire to conform, there still remains the difficulty of
explaining how it is that all adopt the same change,
without previous agreement as to what the change
is to be ; and in changes of fashion, such common
agreement is rare. In matters of dress, for instance,
there is no widespread agreement or understanding as
to the character of a new fashion. A new fashion
comes in, and all follow it ; yet, when it first comes
in, it is not a fashion. It is followed, not generally,
but by a few only. The earliest exponents of a new
fashion are not actuated by the desire to conform, or
they would not depart from the old fashion ; and as
soon as the change they have introduced is generally
followed, and is become the fashion, it is distasteful to
them, and must be replaced by something else. Thus
we see the curious paradox that the leaders of fashion
are themselves the least fashionable, in the true sense
of the word. The explanation is to be found in
another principle of conduct, already expounded. It
lies in the desire for admiration, for eminence, for
superiority, for leadership, which is so potent a
motive to conduct. Conformity with fashion is
following the example of others ; and when example
is followed, example must be set. Where there are
many who follow, there must be some who lead ; and
the leaders are those who have the power, described
in the last chapter, of impressing their will upon the
wills of others. The usual origin of a change in
fashion is that it is first made, for the sake of change,
by a person of originating and independent mind ;
and, once started, the natural desires of change, and

220 CONDUCT

for conforming to fashion, do the rest. In matters
in which change of fashion is frequent, there is little
danger of odium in setting a new fashion ; but
change of custom, though it may be brought about
in the same way, requires exceptional daring on the
part of the innovator.

CHAPTER XIV

INFLUENCE ON CONDUCT OF THE ACTION OF
OTHERS

1. On Ourselves

The normal effect of the action of others toward us,
is to produce reciprocal action of the same kind
towards them. The effect is by no means invariable ;
it is modified by precept, by example, by the dis-
position of the person acted on, and by other factors ;
but broadly and generally, the action of others
towards us, is reciprocated by similar action towards
them. The primary and natural impulse of human
nature, on being struck, is to strike back ; on being
pushed, to push again ; to meet a scowl by a scowl,
and a smile by a smile. These crude and direct
reciprocations are types of more elaborate and in-
direct reciprocations, that prevail in higher spheres
of conduct. Generally, beneficent action evokes a
return of beneficence ; maleficent action, a return
of evildoing; and neutral action a return in kind.
On persons, for instance, who put questions to us,
that we do not consider them entitled to put, we are
apt to retaliate by similar questions in turn ; but
the action of others towards us is rarely, as the

221

222 CONDUCT book n

instance shows, neutral, either in effect or in
intention ; and, in practice, we need consider action
towards ourselves, only as it concerns our welfare ;
and the natural and primary reaction is, as has been
said, reciprocal.

The rule is not invariable. We do not now rob
the man who has robbed us ; but such a mode of
retaliation is undoubtedly the primitive mode. It is
followed among primitive people — among savages
and children. When Billy is asked why he took
Tommy's top, the answer ' Well, he took my
marbles,' seems, to the childish sense of justice, full
and explanatory. The increasing complexity and
elaborateness of action in human society, and the
imperative necessity that the peace shall be kept,
has led to more elaborate reciprocation on even crude
injuries ; and whatever the mode of injury, or the
mode of retaliation, there is a universal feeling,
common to all nations, people, and languages, to all
ages and all races, that the reciprocated injury
should bear a proportion to that which provokes it.
It need not be an injury of the same kind. If a
man hits me on the jaw, I may hit him on the eye,
without the sense of justice in a bystander being
outraged. If he picks my pocket, I may give him in
charge to the police ; but whatever form my retalia-
tion takes, it must bear a severity roughly pro-
portionate to the severity of the injury inflicted. If
my retaliation falls short of this, I am unsatisfied,
and wish to increase it. If it exceeds this standard,
I alienate the sympathy of lookers on, and prepare
for myself an attack of remorse. It is much the

CHAP. XIV

RECIPROCAL CONDUCT 223

same if the action on ourselves is beneficent.
When one does us a kindness, or a service, we desire
to reciprocate it by doing kindness or service in
return ; and we preserve a proportion between that
which is oriven and that which is returned. As
long as the reciprocation is in abeyance, we feel
under a sense of obligation that is irksome and un-
pleasant, and that we wish to terminate. If the
return that we make is much less than what is given
us, we feel that we have been mean, and the feeling
is unpleasant. If the return is much greater, we are
troubled by the feeling that we have laid on our
benefactor a burden of obligation, that will be a
greater trouble to him than the service we have
rendered will compensate.

In our dealings with our friends, however, we do
not open a ledger, entering on the one side the
services rendered, and on the other the benefits
returned. The rule holds good broadly and generally,
and is pretty accurate as applied between acquaint-
ances, whose means of giving and returning are
approximately the same. It does not hold good
between friends, nor between those of very unequal
opportunities. Friendship cancels obligation on the
one side, and the expectation of return on the other.
From our friends we are glad to receive kindnesses,
services, and gifts, rendered in token of friendship ;
and we feel under no obligation for them, under no
compulsion to make return, except by increase of
goodwill. Nay, any return in kind by way of pay-
ment, such as we should feel bound to make to an
acquaintance, is felt to be dishonouring to friendship.

224 CONDUCT

Friendship gives with both hands, and seeks only
the gratification of giving. A friend would be
disappointed and hurt at any direct return for
the offices of friendship ; but would feel equally
disappointed and hurt if, on occasion arising, no
return were made. This is the difference. Between
acquaintances of equal opportunity, a direct return of
kindly offices is required. Between friends, a direct
return is hurtful, since it indicates that the friendship
is no friendship, but mere acquaintanceship. The
eftect, between friends, of rendering services, is to
render the friendship closer and more intimate, and
to increase the desire to render services generally,
and when occasion serves, but not ad hoc — not in
direct reciprocation.

Between persons of very unequal opportunity,
direct reciprocation of benefits is not expected. We
help those who are weaker than ourselves, and are
helped by those who are stronger, without thought
in the first case, or obligation in the second, of direct
return, or of any return at all. I procure employ-
ment for this man, who is out of work ; a fortnight
in the country for this child, who is out of health ;
a midwife for that woman, who is about to be con-
fined ; and neither do I look for return, nor do they
think of making it. But this I expect, as a reciproca-
tion of my benevolence — that they shall refrain from
injurious action towards me. If the man works
actively against my candidature ; if the child throws
mud at me ; if the woman spreads evil reports about
me, and hints that a father should take precautions
about the bringing of his child into the world ; I

CHAP. XIV RECIPROCAL CONDUCT 225

have reason to feel aggrieved. If my professional
senior helps me, a beginner, to my first patient,
or my first brief, and I accept his help ; he closes
my mouth if I happen to know that his methods of
practice are below the high standard of professional
purity.

Retaliation against injury is rarely defective in
intention. There are few who are content to receive
an injury, and to pass it by without an attempt at
retaliation, unless the circumstances are such that
retaliation is impracticable ; and even then, a feeling
of soreness is cherished, and determination is fixed
that, if ever opportunity presents* itself, retaliation
shall be made. Fortunately, for the peace of society,
such determinations are, with most people, softened
and mitigated by the lapse of time. The Christian
morality forbids them to be entertained ; and forbids
even that instant retaliation, when instant retalia-
tion is possible, which is an instinctive trait of human
character. Such teaching has not, in this respect,
been effective ; but this it has done — it has rein-
forced, and in some measures forestalled, the effect on
vindictive determination, that is exercised by lapse
of time. It has abbreviated the time during which
such determinations endure, and brought about an
earlier evanescence.

The cardinal error of retaliation upon injury is
more often excess than defect. Instant retaliation
tends strongly to be excessive, and out of proportion
to the injury suffered. So well is this recognised,
that a rule was once introduced into the Navy, at the
instance of Captain Marryat, that no offender against

Q

226 CONDUCT

discipline should be punislied until after the lapse of
twenty-four hours from the discovery of his offence.
People who are described as of hasty temper,
are those in whom instant retaliation is apt to be
greatly excessive, and often to be regretted when
lapse of time has brought a juster estimation of the
injury suffered. On the other hand, those are
termed vindictive, in whom the lapse of time brings
little or no mitigation of the sense of injury, and of
the determination to retaliate. There are those, and
their characters are not admired, in whom the over-
estimation of injury suffered is accompanied by a long
endurance of an undiminishing determination to
retaliate. Such characters pertain, on the one hand,
to primitive people, as exemplified in the practice
of vendetta ; and on the other hand, to people who
may be termed, somewhat paradoxically, secondarily
primitive ; that is to say, who are reduced by the
denuding action of insanity to a state of quasi-
artificial primitiveness.

The return of good offices may similarly be de-
fective or excessive. There are those — egotistic and
selfish persons, frequent among both the sane and the
insane — who are content to receive the kind offices,
the services, the benefits, conferred on them by other
people, without the thought of any return. What-
ever benefits they receive, they accept as their right ;
and this trait of character is sometimes pushed so far
that the accepting of a benefit from another, they
regard, not as establishing an obligation, but as con-
ferring a favour on that other. By an established
convention, the Sovereign is ' graciously pleased to

CHAP. XIV RECIPROCAL CONDUCT 227

accept ' the gifts and services of his subjects. The
egotist puts himself in the place of a sovereign lord,
and is graciously pleased to accept benefits from
others, as his bare due ; never regarding the transac-
tion in any other light than that of conferring a
favour on his benefactor. Others, again, are defective
in this mode of conduct, from meanness. They know
and appreciate that they are under obligation as the
recipients of benevolence, but the pain of remaining
under obligation is less than the pain of discharging
it, and under obligation they remain.

On the other hand, the sense of obligation is, in
some, excessive. They are as sensitive to obligation
as a cat is to wet feet, and are impatient both to
incur and to endure it. Offers of help they resent ;
the unrequited services of others they disdain. They
will be self-sufficient. They will be independent.
Such self-sufficiency and independence are, in their
degree, altogether praiseworthy ; but they are, in
some, pushed to an excess that renders their exhibitor
impracticable and unattractive. Theirs is the pride
that is apt to go before a fall ; and in the fall they
meet with little sympathy — and would repudiate it
if it were tendered to them.

There is one mode of excessive sensitiveness to
obligation, and excessive return for goodwill, which is
limited, as far as I know, to the Jewish race. There
are not a few Jews who feel and give effect to an
obligation, when any of their possessions is admired,
to make a present of the admired object to the person
who admires it. This very amiable trait of character
may be a source of considerable embarrassment to the

228 CONDUCT

recipient of their bounty, for which the donor looks
for no return, and would be chagrined if a return
were made.

2. Influence on Conduct of the Action of Others
on Others

The action of others towards third parties, pro-
duces in us a definite attitude towards the actors, and
modifies our conduct towards them. The observation
of beneficent action towards others, produces in us
an attitude of sympathy and approval towards the
actor, increases our regard for him, and disposes us to
express the increased regard in our conduct. If his
benefactions are on a large scale, we entertain him at
a banquet ; we subscribe to present him with his
portrait ; we work, perhaps, to secure his election to
parliament ; and when he dies, we pay our respects
by following him to his grave. If his beneficence is
exhibited in isolated acts of kindness here and there,
we become benevolently disposed towards him. If
we know of any object that he wishes to attain, we
help him towards it. We desire, and as far as
opportunity allows, we serve, his welfare. We feel
that he has established a claim on our goodwill.

If, on the other hand, his action towards others is
maleficent, it arouses in us an attitude antagonistic
towards him, and we desire that he shall be punished,
and are ready, if occasion serves, to take part in its
infliction. When we hear of a brutal murder, we
desire ardently the capture and punishment of the
murderer ; and, if occasion serves, we give information

OHAP. XIV

JUSTICE 229

to the police, or aid the course of justice in any way
within our power. If we come upon a boy ill-treating
his younger brother, or tormenting a cat, we box his
ears. Deeply implanted in every human being is the
desire that those who inflict pain on others, should
themselves be made to suffer pain ; and this is the
foundation of every system of criminal law. Inti-
mately bound up with this desire, is the desire that
such action shall be prevented for the future ; but this
is a later and a secondary result of witnessing the
infliction of suff'ering. The first, the primary, the
crude, instinctive impulse, is to inflict pain in retalia-
tion for pain inflicted.

When we witness the infliction of injury upon
others, the desire arises in us to inflict pain upon the
injurer ; and not merely to inflict pain, but to inflict
an amount of pain bearing some proportion to that
inflicted by the ofi'ender ; and more than this, we
have some vague leaning towards inflicting on the
injurer, pain of the same kind that he has made others
suff'er. The last desire is become, to a great extent,
overlaid and stifled in the complexity of modern
civilisation ; but in primitive natures it is often dis-
played. In the code of Hammurabi, if a jerry-built
house fell, and killed the tenant, the builder was to
be killed. If it fell, and killed the eldest son of the
tenant, the eldest son of the builder was to be killed.
Retaliation of such punctual accuracy as this, is termed
poetical justice, and the term seems to imply that it
is not to be expected in a workaday world. In fact,
it is in most cases impracticable, and the utmost that
we now expect is that there shall be some corre-

230 CONDUCT

spondence in degree, Ijetween the pain suffered, and
the pain inflicted, by an offender, without stipulating
for any similarity in kind.

An opinion is often expressed, that the treatment
of those who have injured others, should be restricted
to what is sufficient to deter them from its repetition,
and to deter others who are inclined to commit
similar offences ; and that the retaliatory element
should be altogether discarded. This is not the place
to discuss questions of penology. My object is not
to consider what conduct ought to be, but to describe
what conduct is ; and, that punishment always is, in
fact, retaliatory, there cannot, in my opinion, be any
doubt at all. When we contemplate the brutal
murder and mutilation of a charming woman by her
husband, do we restrict our desire for the punishment
of the murderer, to such measure as may secure that he
has no opportunity to murder and mutilate a second
wife, and that other husbands may be warned not to
murder and mutilate their wives ? If the first object
alone were desired, it would be enough to keep the
murderer under police supervision for the rest of his
life. Would this be considered an adequate punish-
ment in the mind and conscience of the average man ?
If, in addition, the deterrence of others from doing the
like is to actuate us in awarding punishment, then we
must not inflict a punishment more severe than is
sufficient to attain this result. How far the punish-
ment of one is a deterrent to others from committing
a similar offence, must always be a matter of con-
jecture ; but suppose it were a matter of certainty,
and suppose we knew for certain that a severe repri-

CHAP. XIV

JUSTICE 231

mand of the murderer would have the same deterrent
effect upon other would-be murderers as hanging him,
should we be contented with inflicting this punishment
upon a man for the murder and mutilation of his
wife ? I am sure that very few would answer this
question in the aftirmative. When we hear of some
trivial sentence, a fine of a few shillings, or a few days'
imprisonment, being inflicted upon a man or a woman
who has barbarously tortured a child ; are we think-
ing of the want of deterrent effect that this mild
punishment will have upon others ? I say with con-
fidence that we are not ; that if we think at all of the
deterrent effect, or of the want of it, it is as an after-
thought. The main reason of our dissatisfaction is
the inadequacy of the punishment to the oflence, the
want of proportion between the pain that the offender
suffers, and the pain that he has inflicted.

In these days, it is rare for a public benefactor
not to receive, in meal or in malt, our adequate
recognition of his benefactions ; and the man who is
not moved to show goodwill towards the private
benefactor of others, is a churl, and a very infrequent
churl. The public attitude towards malefactors has
undergone, during the last few generations, a great
alteration, and is still in process of change. Until
less than a hundred years ago, they were treated by
punishments of the most savage, and even barbarous,
character. The gallows, the axe, the stake, the wheel,
the quartering-block, the rack, the thumbscrew, and
the boot, were employed with horrible frequency ;
and such retaliations of society on its depredators
are now regarded with horror. Nowadays, the

282 CONDUCT book n

malefactor is treated with consideration, and even
with tenderness. By some, he is regarded as the
victim of heredity : by others, as the victim of
circumstances ; and yet others, with a curious
perverseness of ingenuity, blame the victim, society,
for the depredations of those that prey upon it.
The tendency now is to treat the malefactor with
more consideration than is shown to the honest poor
man, who, in the face of dire temptation, has pre-
served his integrity. Such treatment will inevitably
increase the number of malefactors, and so work its
own reform ; but there is another tendency, that,
if it is not wholly modern, has become greatly
accentuated in recent years, and is more difficult to
combat ; and this is the rapid elevation of a peculiarly
heinous malefactor into a popular hero.

We have seen that, by lapse of time, the desire to
retaliate upon those who have injured us, is normally
diminished ; and something of the same diminution
takes place in the desire to punish those who have
injured others. On the first discovery of a barbarous
crime, the criminal is universally execrated ; and if
he then were to fall into the hands of the mob, he
would be lynched instantly and without mercy. But
with lapse of time, this indignation dies down. It is
not surprising, nor is it much to be regretted, that
we can now read of the crimes of a Brinvilliers or a
Borgia, without feeling the same fervour of indigna-
tion that we should experience if they were recently
committed. It would not be a mark of elevated
morality if we could read of them without indignation ;
and if any one should regard these perpetrators not

CHAP. XIV JUSTICE 233

as debased malefactors, but as a heroine or a hero,
he would, I think, suffer in the estimation of his
hearers, and be looked upon as the upholder of a
very vitiated ethical standard. How, then, are we
to regard those very numerous persons who make a
sort of hero or heroine of the debased malefactors of
the present day, as soon as the details of their crimes
grow cold in the memory ? By the time the evidence
has been collected, and the malefactor tried and
condemned, there is always a considerable, sometimes
a large, number of persons who treat him or her with
nauseous adulation. The murderer who has beaten
his wife to death, or killed her with circumstances of
revolting barbarity, is the recipient of bouquets of
flowers, which turn his condemned cell into a bower
of roses. The woman who has outraged maternity
by putting her innocent child to death, is over-
whelmed with hundreds, literally hundreds, of offers
of marriage. These demonstrations of perverted
sympathy do not come from the professionally
insane. They come from out the general population
of persons capable of holding their places in the
society to which they belong, and acting as sane
persons. Such perverted and spurious sentimentality
does, however, raise a presumption that its exhibitors
are on the border of sanity, if they are not wholly
beyond the pale.

It seems, therefore, that the witnessing of injuries
inflicted by others upon others, produces, in the
bystander, an action towards the aggressor that is
apt to be excessive as soon as the transgression is
known ; but that rapidly diminishes, and is apt.

234 CONDUCT book h

after a time, to die down, and even to be reversed.
When a man confesses to a murder that he committed
twenty years ago, our desire for his punishment is
languid.

3. Injluence 07i Conduct of the Actio7i of Others
on Circumstances

It would seem that action of others, which is
directed neither towards ourselves nor towards our
fellows, is no concern of ours, and can have but little
influence on our conduct ; but this is not so. The
interdependence of every member of a society on
every other, is close and intimate ; and the action of
each has its effect on all. Man acts on circumstances
to overcome them, and to extract benefit from them
for himself and his ; and the ways in which each man
deals with his circumstances, have interest for all his
fellows, and modify in some degree their conduct,
especially their conduct towards him.

If a man is successful in extracting benefit from
his circumstances ; if his action on circumstances is
efficient ; his success and efficiency breed, in those
around him, an attitude of respect, which colours
their conduct towards him. Such men are treated
with respect. Their opinions are considered ; their
acts are not lightly questioned ; their advice is
valued ; their services are sought ; their example is
followed ; their wishes are regarded. In many ways,
they modify the conduct of those who know them.
The man who is unsuccessful in extracting benefit
from circumstances, becomes ipso facto negligible.

CHAP. XIV ADMIRATION AND ENVY 235

His opinions carry no weight ; his acts, even when
sensible, are lightly regarded ; none seeks his advice ;
none seeks his services ; his example is noticed only
to be avoided ; and his wishes are disregarded.

These are the inevitable consequences of success
and ill success ; but beyond this, there are certain
phases of conduct, generated by the same results of
action, but differing according to the character of
the observer. In some, the witnessing of success in
others breeds whole-hearted admiration that is freely
expressed ; in others, differently constituted, the
observation of success in others is a source of envy
which finds its expression in detraction.

The failure of others, produces conduct in the
bystander that is similarly diverse, according to his
character. In some it breeds sympathy, pity, and
desire to help, that find expression in appropriate
conduct ; in others it breeds contempt, self-esteem,
and a desire to exhibit their own superiority by
trampling on the unsuccessful.

One would suppose that envy of the successful
would go with brutality towards the unsuccessful,
and this is generally true ; but it is not universally
true. There are those who are sickened by the sight
of success in others, in which they do not themselves
share, and yet can protect and succour the unsuc-
cessful ; so curiously compounded is human nature.

CHAPTER XV

SPONTANEOUS SOCIAL CONDUCT

Beyond that social conduct that is elicited from us
by the existence, the presence, the attitude, the action,
of others, there is a considerable range of social
conduct that is autogenic or spontaneous. The
social conduct of others, that elicits conduct from
us, has its complement in social conduct of our
own, that produces similar effects in them. Without
being prompted or incited thereto by the conduct of
others, we act in various ways towards them ; and
these modes of conduct may be classified according
as they are directed to influence the welfare of the
state as a whole, of sections or classes, or of indi-
viduals within the state ; and each of these three
modes of conduct is further divisible according as
it is active, on the one hand, or passive and self-
restraining on the other.

Patriotic Conduct

Beyond that patriotic conduct which is elicited
from us by desire of the approbation of our fellows,
already treated of in a previous chapter, there is
a spontaneous patriotism, that arises from love of

236

CHAP. XV

PATRIOTIC CONDUCT 237

country, and the more elevated motive of desiring
to benefit the community to which we belong. The
two motives are, no doubt, often associated ; and
not even the actor himself may know how far he
is actuated by patriotism, and how far by ambition ;
but the two are distinct, and the distinction is well
recognised.

Patriotic conduct is conduct spontaneously de-
voted to the service of the State ; but all service so
devoted is not necessarily patriotic. Many thou-
sands of persons serve the State, in the Navy, the
Army, the Civil Service, not primarily for love of
country, but as a means of livelihood. Even those
who serve their country in the legislature, and
render very arduous services without remuneration,
are, it is believed, not all actuated solely by the
motive of patriotism. None the less, patriotism
is an efficient motive, actuating, in some, a large
part of conduct, in some an occasional act only ;
and few persons are altogether destitute of it. Mak-
ing every allowance for ambition and class interest,
yet the conduct of many statesmen, soldiers, and
others, is largely dominated by the mere desire to
serve the community to which they belong ; and
there are times and occasions — times of Parliamentary
elections and political turmoil, occasions of wars and
embroilment with foreign states — when the conduct
of a large proportion of the citizens of the country
is actuated by the motive of serving the whole com-
munity. Some convene meetings ; others attend
them ; and yet others break them up. Some make
speeches, which others interrupt ; some take part in

238 CONDUCT

processions, which others attack ; and, for the time
being, a large part of the population is engaged in
conduct directly inspired by regard for the welfare
of the State.

Such conduct may be in excess or in defect.
Excess of patriotism is rare, and difficult to define ;
for it is a condition of social life, that each individual
in the community should be ready, upon occasion,
to sacrifice everything, even his life, to the welfare
of the State ; but he who allows his enthusiasm for
politics to absorb so large a share of his conduct,
as seriously to impair his livelihood, and that of his
family, is thereby diminishing the welfare of the
State as a whole, perhaps by more than his direct
exertions enhance it. It may be, indeed, as in the
case of the younger Pitt, that his services are of
paramount importance to the State, and in such a
case, patriotism will prompt him to sacrifice even
his means of livelihood ; but even in his case, the
very importance of his services rendered that conduct
excessive, by which he impaired his health, and
brought about his premature death.

With many, again, civic conduct is defective.
There are many who do not concern themselves at
all about national affairs ; who do not trouble to
arrive at any considered judgment with respect to
them, or to record their votes for the council of the
nation.

Perversion of conduct has been defined as conduct
prompted })y instinctive desire, but plainly calculated
to defeat the very end desired ; and, estimated by
this definition, much political conduct appears to be

CHAP. XV

PATRIOTIC CONDUCT 239

perverted ; for many things arc done, many negotia-
tions with foreign countries are conducted, much
legislation is passed, many wars are undertaken,
with the object and desire of benefiting the State,
but which are, in result, detrimental and even
disastrous to it. Such conduct is, however, taken
out of the category of perverted conduct, by the
fact that, to the actors, it is not, when it is done,
plainly detrimental or disastrous to the interest it
is intended to serve. To them it appears likely to
be beneficial, though to others its detrimental char-
acter is plain enough.

Spontaneous conduct of the character we are
now considering, may be active or passive, may mean
exertion or self-restraint ; and the passive or self-
restraining moiety is as important as the active.
It is important that every member of a community
should refrain from acts noxious or detrimental to
the community ; and though such acts are provided
against by the efficacy of fear of disapprobation and
punishment that they incur, it is manifestly a
greater safeguard to the State, that its members
should be inherently averse to action of this descrip-
tion ; and this inherent repulsion is the motive of the
self-restraining patriotic conduct under consideration.
In rare cases, this motive is not strong enough to
prevent conduct antagonistic to the State ; and
there are cases in which a man directs his conduct
so as to injure the community to which he belongs.
Such conduct may be either purely self-seeking, or
purely self-abnegatory, or some mixture of the two.
The sordid traitor, who sells his country for a

240 CONDUCT

pecuniary reward, belongs to one class ; the crazy
fanatic, who sacrifices his life in the endeavour to
assassinate the head of the State, or some prominent
official, to benefit, as he fancies, some class of his
fellow-countrymen, or to avenge some fancied wrong,
belongs to the second ; another conspirator who seeks
to subvert the government, partly in order that a
better may take its place, and partly in order that
his own interests may be served thereby, is in an
intermediate position.

Self- restraining patriotic conduct is in excess,
when it leads to abstention from conduct that could
not possibly injure the State, from fear that injury
may result. It is not very infrequent, in certain
cases of insanity, for the patient to refrain from the
most innocent acts — from eating and drinking, for
instance — on account of a crazy notion that by so
doing he would bring disaster upon the nation.

Philanthropic Conduct

The aggregate amount of conduct prompted by
the motive of benefiting sections and classes of the
community, is enormous. It ranges from the pro-
vision of workmen's dwellings, and the immense
ramifications of the Charity Organisation Society,
to the provision of homes for starving dogs, and
of temporary relief for cats while their owners are
away from home. For, with the increase and spread
of tenderness and sympathy with suffering of all
kinds, and of all creatures, dogs and cats have been
admitted to a share in the life of the community,
and are regarded, in some sort, as fellow-citizens.

CHAP. XV PHILANTHROPIC CONDUCT 241

Philanthropic conduct that serves a section of the
community, is a sort of miniature or local patriotism.
It seeks to serve, not the State, but some section of
the State — a county or a town, with all the classes
therein comprised. The amount of effort that is
devoted to service on local bodies, by members of
Town Councils, County Councils, Urban and Rural
District Councils, and so forth, is enormous and
incalculable ; and under this head falls the provision
of local benefits, of parks and recreation grounds, of
public libraries, museums, and baths, at the expense
of philanthropic donors.

Philanthropic conduct that serves a class of the
community, may affect the class to which the actor
belongs, and is then a wider self-seeking ; or may
affect a class alien to that of the actor, and is a purer
philanthropy. These are the motives that lead to
the constitution of Trade Unions, Employers Federa-
tions, and the thousands of charitable societies, from
the managing committees of hospitals, to homes of
rest for tired horses ; and that prompts to the
subscriptions of millions of pounds in charity every
year.

Philanthropic conduct may be regarded as ex-
cessive, when the inroads it makes on the time or the
means of the philanthropist, are so great as to encroach
on the duty that he owes to himself and his family ;
it is defective when he selfishly withdraws himself
from participation in corporate efforts to improve
the lot of others, while sharing in the benefits they
obtain.

R

CHAPTER XVI

SPONTANEOUS MORALITY

The third division of spontaneous social conduct, —
that which regulates our relations to individual
fellow-citizens — is by far the most extensive. Like
the other modes of autogenic or spontaneous conduct,
it is divided into two sections, the active and the self-
restraining ; and of these, the latter is by far the
most important. Without the exertion of active
beneficence, without the kind offices and acts of
beneficence that we do for one another, social life
would be deprived of much of its charm, of much of
its benefit, of much of its polish ; but it would still
continue. It would be a grey, cold, selfish society,
but it would be a society ; and might hold together,
as a society, indefinitely. There is nothing disruptive
or disintegrative of society in the absence of active
benevolence ; and many societies in which it had
little place, have had a long and prosperous existence.
But without self- restraining social conduct, society
would fall to pieces. As already pointed out, in the
chapter on Elicited Morality, the foundation of social
life is the self-restraint, the limitation of their own
freedom of action, on the part of the individual

242

CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 243

members of the society. The imperative condition
of social life is that tlie individuals of which it is
composed, should not encroach upon the sphere of
activity proper to each or any of their fellows. We
have seen how this condition is upheld and safe-
guarded })y the powerful influence of the approbation
that is awarded to it, and the disapprobation that is
incurred by its infringement. But a morality that is
wholly dependent on the approbation and disapproba-
tion of others, is a precarious and incomplete morality.
It would permit the perpetration of acts and omissions
of the most immoral character, if they could be per-
petrated without discovery. The preservation of
society would depend on the perpetual vigilance
exercised by all upon each ; and no one who was out
of sight, could be trusted to act with integrity. A
morality so enforced would be precarious and un-
satisfactory. It would be frequently infringed ; and
the society that was so preserved from the disin-
tegrating effects of private and internecine aggression,
would avail little in competition with one in which
such disintegration had the additional safeguard, of
an inherent disinclination on the part of each to
encroach upon the legitimate freedom of the rest.

Hence, in the competition of communities with
each other, it has happened that those in which there
was any rudiment of this inherent self-control have
prevailed over those in which it was absent ; and
those in which it was present in greater degree,
have prevailed over those less copiously endowed ;
and we are now arrived at a state of society in which
most individuals have an inherent and spontaneous

244 CONDUCT book h

repulsion, partly innate, partly tlie result of inculcation,
against those encroachments on the liberty of others
that constitute acts of immorality. We avoid, not
merely to escape disapprobation, but because it is
inherently distasteful to us, action that interferes, to
the detriment of our neighbour, with any department
of his conduct. We avoid interference with his direct
self-conservation — with his life- worthiness ; with the
earning of his livelihood ; with his family and social
relations ; with his recreation, his religion, and with
the legitimate satisfaction of his curiosity.

Most of the self-restraints, that should characterise
our dealings with our neighbours, are summarised in
the decalogue ; and it will be remembered that every
one of the commandments, that concern our duty to
our neighbour, is prohibitory. Most of the trans-
gressions that are inconsistent with good citizenship
are prohibited, either explicitly or by implication, in
the decalogue ; but the active side of our neighbourly
activities is altogether ignored therein. As to the
second order of spontaneous social acts, — those by
which we promote the welfare of our fellows, not
merely passively, by refraining from aggressive
action, but actively, by assisting them to attain
their ends — these are not mentioned in the decalogue.
As to them, the old dispensation is dumb : but for
the merely self- restraining moiety of spontaneous
social conduct, we may take the decalogue for our
guide, expanding its provisions to exhibit all that
they may fairly be taken to imply.

CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 245

Self-restraining Spontaneous Morality

'Thou shalt do no murder.' This brief prohibi-
tion must, for the practical purposes of social life,
be expanded to prohibit every mode of action that
diminishes the life-worthiness of others. Not only
may we not do murder by violence, but we may not
maim our neighbour, we may not break his limbs, or
blacken his eye, or assault him in any way. Not
only may we not wilfully do him physical injury,
but we are bound so to limit and restrain our action,
that we may not put him in danger, by recklessness,
or carelessness, or negligence. Not only may we not
wilfully poison him, but, if we have the handling of
poisons, we are bound to exercise every precaution
that they may not fall into the hands of the ignorant
or the unskilful. Not only must we refrain from
wilfully communicating infection to our neighbour,
but we must be careful lest he should be inadvertently
infected. Whatever sanitation is within our control,
must not be neglected, but kept in a state of eflBciency,
lest others should suffer by our default. Such pits
and ponds as constitute a danger to wayfarers, must
be fenced. Precautions must be taken against fire.
If we undertake the supply or preparation of food,
we must see that it is pure and wholesome. In every
direction in which our action affects the life-worthiness
of others, we are bound so to exercise it, that not
merely their lives, but their health, may not be
imperilled.

Defect in one or other of these modes of conduct
is unfortunately frequent enough, either from want

246 CONDUCT

of knowledge, from want of forethought, from care-
lessness, from selfishness, and lack of consideration
for the claims of others, or from deliberate design in
the interest of self; and these several motives mark
increasing degrees of turpitude. Among the insane,
conduct tending to the injury of others is frequent,
though it is much less frequent than people unac-
quainted with the insane are apt to suppose. Actual
assaults upon others by insane persons, are by no
means frequent events. The majority of them are
committed by paranoiacs, who are, as already stated,
in a constant state of exasperation at the persecutions
to which they suppose themselves to be subject, and
are on the one hand, prone to express their resentment
by physical violence, and on the other, are by no
means discriminating as to the person upon whom
the violence shall be exercised. If upon a person
whom they suppose to be concerned in the persecu-
tion, so much the better ; but if such a person is not
at hand, or cannot be identified, any one will serve
as a whipping boy ; and the assault, if undeserved by
him, will at any rate attract notice, and so give
the paranoiac a chance of ventilating his grievances.
Generally, the effect of insanity is to weaken self-
control, and to reduce the sufferer from it to a lower
level of civilisation ; and thus it is natural that acts
of violence should be more frequently perpetrated by
the insane than by the sane ; though, as has been
said, this proclivity is much exaggerated in the minds
of the public. The inherent selfishness, which also
is a part of the general degradation of mind that
occurs in insanity, leads to acts of aggression, and

CHAP, xvr SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 247

especially to licence in conduct, that may easily
become dangerous to others ; and the lack of fore
thought, and inability to realise the natural conse-
quences of action, that results from intellectual
deficiency, is another reason that the conduct of
the insane is apt to be dangerous, even if not
wilfully dangerous, to others. They are no more
to be trusted with dangerous appliances, with fire,
or poison, or weapons, or sharp instruments, than
children ; and for the same reason — that they do
not appreciate the potentialities for mischief that
reside in such appliances.

Conduct in restraint of injury to others is some-
times excessive. There is a variety of insanity in
which the patient regards himself as a source of
infection, or of some other mode of injury, to others,
and regulates his conduct accordingly ; living in
isolation, and refusing to associate with others, for
fear of communicating the infection ; and there are
others who are so convinced that whatever they do
or say is noxious and pestilential to those they love,
or to those around them, that they refuse communica-
tion with others, and even attempt suicide, to avoid
inflicting the injury they dread.

In rare cases, the instinct which bids us care for
the safety of those around us, and do nothing to
imperil their lives, is reversed ; and we see the
gruesome spectacle of an instinctive murderer, who
takes life for the mere sake of taking life, and with
no motive ulterior to the satisfaction derived from
the act. Such a mode of conduct seems incredible,
but there are cases in which it has been established

248 CONDUCT

beyond doubt. One after another, the patients of a
certain professional nurse died while under her hands.
Her very presence in a house seemed fatal. She was
a most capable, assiduous, and devoted nurse. She
nursed her patients with the utmost solicitude ; they
became much attached to her, and she to them ; but
whomsoever she nursed, even if their illnesses did
not appear to be serious when she joined them,
invariably died. More than forty persons thus met
their death before she was suspected ; but at length
the inference was inescapable. Poison was looked
for, and was found. The nurse was placed on her
trial, and the evidence was overwhelmingly clear ;
but what puzzled the court and the country was
that no motive was apparent. She gained nothing
by the deaths. Many of the victims were her
benefactors ; and for some of them she had professed,
and had appeared to feel, a close and steady friend-
ship for years. These considerations led to her
reprieve on the ground of insanity ; though she
was to all appearance sane, and no other indication
of insanity was manifested by her. She was
relegated to a lunatic asylum, and in a few years
became deeply and hopelessly insane.

' Thou shalt not steal.' The next respect in which
every member of a community is bound and obliged
to limit his own action, is with respect to the means
of livelihood of his fellows. He must so order his
own conduct, as not to embarrass his fellows in the
administration of their means and the earning of
their livelihood. The decaloguic prohibition from
stealing, like the prohibition from murder, is but

CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 249

the type and example of a multitude of cognate
prohibitions. He must not only refrain from steal-
ing ; he must, in the language of the catechism, be
true and just in all his dealings. Not only must he
not deprive his neighbour of money or goods, either
by stealth, force, or fraud, but he must not seek to
prevent or hinder his neighbour from the honest
acquisition of wealth. He must not put obstacles in
the way ; and to this end, he must refrain from
unfavourable comment upon him. He must abstain,
again in the words of the decalogue, from bearing
false witness, and in those of the catechism, from
evil -speaking, lying, and slandering. He must
abjure, not only the thousand tortuous ways of
dishonest acquisition, but the ways, almost equally
numerous, and equally tortuous, of unjust disparage-
ment. Nor is this the limit of the restraint which
social life demands of each individual who partakes
in it. He must respect the liberty of other people
in the administration of their means. Even if he
does not propose himself to profit by doing so, he
must not tempt them into gambling and reckless
speculation. He must not persuade them to ex-
penditure that is beyond their proper capacity, and
disproportionate to their means ; neither must he
encourage them in undue parsimony.

Defect in the restraints of this class, are but too
frequently advertised in the records of criminal and
coroners' courts. Prosecutions for the many forms
of stealing ; actions for libel, and slander ; suicides,
the result of gambling, to which the unhappy victim
has been tempted by insidious companions, or noxious

250 CONDUCT

publications ; are but too frequent ; and show that,
in spite of thousands and tens of thousands of years
of social life, man is, as yet, imperfectly adapted to
the social state. The true balance between the self-
regarding instincts and the social instincts is not yet
reached. The former had many millions of years'
start of the latter, and the instincts later acquired
have not yet gained their fair share of influence in
the regulation of conduct.

A too punctilious regard for the property of
others, an excess of abstention from interfering with
it or encroaching upon it, is extremely rare ; but
cases are not wanting. When Miss Matty lost her
property, and was reduced to keeping a little shop,
she would persist in giving the children over-w^eight
of sweets for their money ; and when it w^as repre-
sented to her that sweets were unwholesome for the
children, she merely added peppermint or ginger
lozenges to counteract the ill effects. It must be
admitted, however, that such excess of self-restraint
is rare.

Non-interference with our neighbours' social
relations, demands that we shall refrain from action
that shall depreciate him in the opinion of his
fellows, or cause him embarrassment in their presence.
If he is shy, we shall not accentuate his shyness by
making him the focus of attention ; if he stumbles
in addressing an audience, we shall not jeer at him ;
if he perpetrates a breach of etiquette, we shall not
make him feel it ; if he is unpopular, W' e shall not
add to his unpopularity. Evil speaking is to be
added to the taboo. One of the marks of high breed-

CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 251

ing is said to be the capability of putting people at
their ease, that is to say, of relieving them of all
feeling of embarrassment ; and it appears, therefore,
that by high breeding we mean, in this connection at
least, a high degree of adaptation to the social state.

Defect in conduct of this description is frequent
enough. The want of tact of a blundering oaf is
very aj)t to cause embarrassment, by drawing atten-
tion to the very matter that some one present desires
to conceal ; and few people have sufficient self-
restraint to refrain from repeating a racy story, even
though it reflects u^Don an acquaintance. Such sins
are venial ; but not venial is the backbiting which
deliberately and intentionally seeks to discredit a
neighbour with his or her fellows, from the motive of
envy, or of gaining momentary distinction as the
bearer of news. Excess also, of restraint in this
respect is to be deprecated, and for obvious reasons.
If I am asked, in good faith and for suflicient reason,
as to the trustworthiness of this man or that woman,
I am bound and obliged to tell all I know to the dis-
credit, as well as the credit, of the person concerned.
If I do not, I do injustice to the applicant, by leading
him to place trust in a person who is untrustworthy.
Upon this consideration is founded the legal doctrine
of privilege.

Neither may we give such rein to our conduct as
to impair the sanctity of our neighbours' family
relations. The seventh commandment is but one of
the prohibitions against such interference. Not only
may a man not seduce his neighbour's wife, but he
must refrain from such conduct as may cause strife

252 CONDUCT

between husband and wife, between parent and child.
He must not speak or act so as to impair the mutual
esteem and affection of husband and wife, the respect
of the child for his parents, or the love and protection
of the parent for the child. Any such action is
destructive of family ties, and it is the family, not
the individual, that is the true unit of society. But
our abstention from interference in family life must
go further than this. The New Testament gives to
the seventh commandment an extension similar to
that which the tenth gives to the eighth ; but the
extension is not extensive enough. The unit of
society is the family ; the basis of the family is
chastity ; and the foundation of chastity is purity of
thought. The prohibition of the seventh command-
ment is therefore incomplete, unless and until there is
read into it a prohibition, not merely of entertaining
unchaste thoughts towards this or that person, but
against corrupting the purity of the minds of others
by foul stories and suggestions.

Self-restraint in conduct, towards the marital and
parental relations of others, is upon the whole well
observed in the great bulk of the population. The
danger of interfering between husband and wife is
notorious ; and, although the divorce court finds its
time fully occupied, the proportion of the population
that has recourse to its relief, is, in this country,
insignificantly small. In those countries, as in some
of the United States, in which divorces are more
numerous, it is not because adultery is more common,
but because divorce is granted for other reasons than
that of adultery. Neither is self-restraint ill observed

CHAP. XVI

SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 253

ill the matter of interference between parents and
children ; and in these respects, defect of conduct is
not frequent ; but in the matter of foul conversation
and pornographic literature, there is much licence ;
and in these respects the conduct of many is very
defective. Of late years, there has come into
existence an amount of pornographic literature that
pretends to be scientific ; that under the guise of
science, panders to the beastliest inclinations in man ;
and that, in consequence of its disguise as science, is
able to escape the destructive ministrations of the
modern representative of the hangman.

The next mode of action that comes under review,
is that concerned in the exercises of religion ; and
application of the rule that we are now considering,
demands that we do not interfere to restrain others
in whatever exercise of religion their consciences
dictate. This rule of conduct is of very recent
recognition, and one that is even now not universally
admitted. We have just (August 1910) witnessed
the solemn intervention of the Parliament of the
nation in the religious conduct of the Sovereign, and
the imposition upon him of a compulsory religious
formula. It is but a couple of centuries since a
compulsory religious formula was imposed upon
every citizen in the nation ; since one who neglected
to attend the services of the national Church incurred
a penalty for his neglect ; and since the repetition of
a prescribed religious formula was compulsory on
every holder of civic office, from the Lord Chancellor
to the parish constable. Little by little these legal
provisions have been relaxed ; and now the Sovereign

254 CONDUCT

and tlie Lord Chancellor are tlie only civic officials
thus interfered with ; but long after the legal obliga-
tion was abolished, coercion was exercised by opinion,
and by the disapprobation expressed towards those
whose religious exercises differed from the exercises
of the majority. Nor were this coercion, and the
legal coercion that it replaced, without justification.
We are pleased to assume an attitude of superiority
towards our ancestors, and to regard them as bigoted
and benighted in their religious intolerance ; but, in
doing so, we forget that circumstances alter cases.
Apart from the special political circumstances of our
own country, in which the threatening attitude of a
foreign power rendered it necessary for us to safe-
guard ourselves by provisions of the kind, the
considerations set forth above, in the chapters on
Custom and Fashion, must always be borne in mind.
Until a very advanced stage of society is reached, it
is vital to the existence of a community that
uniformity of conduct should prevail within it.
Multiformity of conduct is directly disintegratory,
as has been shown ; and unless it is suppressed, the
community, in which variety of conduct is allowed
to prevail, will either disperse of its own motion,
or will be so weakened as to fall an easy prey to
some community that is more rigidly and stably
constituted. Until a substitute of equal binding
power arises and prevails in the community, it is a
condition of its existence that uniformity of conduct
should prevail ; and if it do not prevail by the
natural inclination of the citizens to conform with
custom and fashion, it must be enforced by punitive

CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 255

measures. Toleration in religion is of late appearance,
because, until lately, it could not have been permitted
without danger to the State. It is said that every
country has the Jews that it deserves. It is true
that every country has the degree of toleration in
religion that it deserves. Until the growth of
sympathy, and the binding force of goodwill towards
each other of the several members of the community,
have attained a strenorth renderinor them substitut-
able for the binding force of custom ; until the growth
of self-restraint has enabled an internal coercion over
self-regarding conduct to take the place of external
coercion ; it is not safe for the community to neglect
any means by which the self-regarding conduct of
individuals may be subordinated to the common
welfare, and by which all may be made to act in
unison, without regard to individual inclination.
This is the reason that toleration in matters of
religion is of such late appearance.

At the present day, however, such toleration may
safely be allowed in Western nations ; and as it is
become safe, so it is become the practice. Even the
Churches themselves, with the sole exception of the
Roman Catholic Church, formally admit the practice
of toleration ; though, perhaps, it would not be very
safe to allow any of them the power of suppressing
it. Looking at the matter from the point of view of
the citizen, and the student of conduct, however, we
see that liberty of action of each is to be allowed, up
to the extreme point at which it begins to encroach
upon the liberty of action of all, provided that the
safety of all is not thereby imperilled ; and, since

256 CONDUCT

there are now in existence cohesive forces sufficient
to keep society together without the binding influence
of religious uniformity, this uniformity may safely
be abandoned ; and it is no longer necessary for
the welfare of the State, and therefore no longer
justifiable, to interfere with the religious exercises of
others.

We may not, then, interfere to restrict the
religious exercises of other people ; and it follows
that we may not restrict the expressions of their
opinion on religious matters ; but may we restrict
the expression of opinion in any respect ? This is a
thesis that has often been argued, and men of the
highest intellect, and of the purest morality, have
advocated different views with respect to it. It
seems to me that these eminent moralists, such as
Dr. Johnson on the one side, and J. S. Mill on the
other, have not sufficiently distinguished between
the expression of opinion as to what is, on the one
hand, and the advocacy of modes of conduct on the
other. To the expression of opinion as to what is,
or may be, even if it concerns the existence and
attributes of the Deity, I can see no objection ; but
the advocacy of a course of conduct stands on different
ground. If there are many acts that a member of a
community may not do, and that, if he do not
voluntarily restrain himself from, he may rightly be
prevented hj force majeure from doing, then it seems
to me illogical and absurd to permit him to advocate
the doing of these acts. If a man may not murder
or steal, then, equally, he may not advocate murder
or stealing ; and if he may rightly be prevented

CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 257

by force majeure from murder and stealing, and
punished if he does murder or steal, then it seems to
me to follow, of necessity, that he may be prevented
from advocating murder or stealing, and punished
if he does advocate them. But I see nothing in this
reasoning to deter him from discussing what killing
is murder, or what taking away of property is
stealing. This is a distinction that is not always
recognised. A man should not, it seems to me, be
punished for writing a book on ' Killing no Murder ' ;
but he may rightly be punished for suggesting the
practice of murder. He should not be restrained from
his endeavours to show that taking away from other
people their land or their property is not dishonest ;
but he may rightly be restrained from, and punished
for, advocating the taking of their land or property,
until the public conscience is convinced that there
is no dishonesty in the practice. In the scheme of
nature, the individual is, as has been shown, of no
account in comparison with the race. The individual
is a mere means of continuing the race, and is
ruthlessly sacrificed to the welfare of the race. And
in the community also, the welfare of the individual
is nothing, in comparison with that of the community
at large. The community must not, and does not,
hesitate to sacrifice the individual for its own welfare.
It is bound, however, to take care that the principle
on which the individual is sacrificed, is not inimical
to the community itself The community has, and
ought to have, no hesitation in sacrificing its
individual members in war, or for treason ; but it
must be careful not to sacrifice them, not to allow

s

258 CONDUCT

them to suffer any disadvantage, on a principle
which, as society is constituted, would be dangerous
to its existence. If it does so, it does so at its
own peril ; and the struggle for existence between
communities, will ensure the destruction of any
community that makes a mistake in this respect.
Thus, it seems to me right, that is to say, desirable
for the welfare of the community, that the advocacy
of practices which appear to be destructive of
common life, should be punished and suppressed ;
but wrong to punish or suppress the discussion of
what is and what is not advantageous or dis-
advantageous to the community.

On this principle, it appears to me that, with
respect to the expression of opinion as to what is,
tolerance is right and intolerance wrong ; but with
respect to advocacy of action that appears to be
inimical to the community, intolerance is right and
tolerance is wrong. I have said action that appears
to be inimical to the community, and the obvious
retort is, appears to whom ? Why, to the community
itself; and in the community it is the dominant will
that prevails. It is not necessarily the will of the
majority, for in many matters the majority exerts no
will. In medieval times, the power of the nation
was exerted, now by an individual, now by an
oligarchy, now by an institution — the Church —
and the mass of the nation took no part in com-
mon life, but that of obeying the behests of the
dominant one or few, in as far as these behests
were consistent with custom. But somewhere in
every community there resides a dominant will ; and

CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 259

this will it is, that exerts the governance for the
time being. In modern democracies, the dominant
will resides in the majority, and the majority does
what it pleases.

The same principle of non-intervention in the
conduct of others, applies to recreation, and. to the
research of curiosity. Time was when certain re-
creations were forbidden. The Puritans abolished
play-acting and bear-baiting ; and even now, the
law forbids prize-fighting and cock-fighting ; and the
latter are rightly forbidden, from the point of view
here taken. This principle forbids us to limit, by
our own action, the action of others, so long as what
they do is innocuous to the community, or to any
part of it. If the Puritans discountenanced play-
acting, we must not forget that many of the plays of
that date were licentious in the extreme, and fostered
a dissolution of family relations, which is destructive
to the State. If bear-baiting and cock-fighting are
prohibited in a more humane age, it is because the
extension of sympathy with suffering has led to the
inclusion within our social sympathies, as outlying
appendages to the community, of the lower animals,
whose sensitiveness to pain, we infer, resembles our
own. We may rightly restrict such recreations as
foster an anti-social spirit in those who take part in
them ; and for this reason it is justifiable to suppress
prize-fighting, licentious plays and books, and exhibi-
tions of cruelty. It is the binding force of sympathy
that takes the place of the more galling bonds of
primitive society ; and, as those bonds have been
relaxed, we cannot afford to allow any influence to

260 CONDUCT

exist which tends to weaken that which has taken
their place.

Lastly, we may not restrict the research of
curiosity. There is now no region of possible human
inquiry, on the boundary of which we find the notice
that trespassers will be prosecuted ; but these notice-
boards have been but recently removed. From what
has already been said, it will be seen that it does not
at all follow that the restrictions imposed on research
by the Church, were not salutary at the time they
were imposed. If not themselves salutary, they
were inseparable parts of a system that was not
merely salutary, but necessary, for the preservation
of the then social state. All difference of opinion is,
as has been shown, incipiently disintegratory ; and,
when the binding force that keeps society together,
is not the interstitial cohesion of sympathy and
tenderness, but coercion from above — a far more
precarious agency — the disintegrating effect of
difference of opinion is of great moment. Its centri-
fugal action between man and man, not being
counteracted by the gravitation of sympathy, would
overpower mere pressure from without, and cannot,
therefore, be permitted to exist. However much we
may deplore the suppression of the researches of
Eoger Bacon, of Bruno, of Galileo, and of many
another pioneer and martyr of Science, we cannot but
recognise that scientific research is harmless in highly
organised communities only ; and that the first
necessity for a community is its own preservation.
If Roger Bacon and Bruno, and other rare spirits of
early times, who were so much in advance of those

CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 261

times, had beeu permitted to carry on, unchecked,
the researches which so attracted them, and have
made their names immortal, it is possible, nay it is
probable, that the result would have been a division
of opinion that would have been altogether destruc-
tive of the communities in which they lived ; and
that, for every century that discovery was retarded
by the destruction of their labours, a millennium
would have elapsed, ere knowledge would have
reached its present state of advancement.

Active Spontaneous Morality

The last phase of social conduct that is to be
considered, is that by which we seek, not, as in
those considered in the last section, to refrain from
undue interference with the liberty of our neighbours
to pursue their own inclinations, but actively to
assist them in this endeavour. This, I repeat, is the
lesson in which the dispensation of the New Testa-
ment supplements the dispensation of the old. The
decalogue, in as far as it defines our duty to our
neighbour, is purely prohibitory. It prescribes what
we may not do to him, but it says no word of active
assistance. The new commandment is, ' Heal the
sick ; cleanse the lepers ; raise the dead ; cast out
devils ; preach the gospel to the poor.' In other
words, our attitude to our neighbours is to be one,
not merely of negative abstention from injury, but
of active beneficence. We are to assist him in the
conservation of his life, in the earning of his liveli-
hood and the administration of his means, in gaining

262 CONDUCT book n

tlie esteem, approval, and love of his fellows, in rearing
his children, in satisfying his curiosity, in satisfying
his religious aspirations, and in obtaining opportunity
for the exercise of his faculties generally.

There are two main methods by which the welfare
of others is aided. It is aided directly, by conduct
addressed to this end, in individual cases ; and it
is aided indirectly or vicariously, by the provision of
funds to enable others to give assistance. Further,
there is assistance given to others ad hoc, as occasion
arises, when they are in manifest difficulty, and their
straits appeal irresistibly to our sympathy ; and
there is the organisation of a mechanism for giving
assistance whenever the need for assistance may arise.
In the first case, the aid is usually given directly ; in
the second, more usually indirectly, or vicariously.

The sympathetic impulse to aid others in preserv-
ing their lives, is a very deeply rooted and wide-
spread social instinct. It is shared with man by
many of the social animals, though in the less
organised animal societies it seems to be wanting.
There are many well authenticated stories of help
given to one another, in circumstances of danger and
difiiculty, by baboons, monkeys, rats, cattle, and even
birds ; but other social animals — wolves, for instance,
and hamsters, will fall upon a wounded comrade, tear
him to pieces, and devour him. In the human race,
and, indeed, in other social animals, the instinct is
particularly developed towards the young ; and it is
easy to see that the development of this instinctive
desire has a direct bearing upon the ultimate motive
of all conduct — the continuation of the race. If

CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 263

society is to be preserved, and the race is to flourish,
sedulous care must be taken to preserve the young ;
and hence we find that a child that has temporarily
or permanently lost its parents, finds a protector in
every adult. Every one will snatch a child out of
danger ; feed it if it is hungry ; wrap it up against
the cold ; seek out its natural guardians if it has
strayed ; and protect it against the consequences of
its own inexperience and want of foresight. That
protection and cherishing which is primarily bestowed
upon the weakness of the child, becomes, by an easy
process, transferred to the weak adult. Women, and
the old of both sexes, are treated with tenderness.
As far as they are concerned, part, at any rate, of
the fierce competition and struggle for existence is
suspended. They are not elbowed out of the way as
a man would be, but way is made for them ; and we
stand aside to let them take the easiest paths. The
same tenderness is extended towards those who have
strayed into danger, or become weakened from illness
or accident. We do not look with indifierence upon
him who is drowning ; or leave lying on the road the
man who has been run over ; or leave by the way-
side him who has fallen among thieves. We succour
and help them according to their several necessities,
urged thereto by the instinctive sympathetic desire,
that is now under consideration. If it is true, as
Meg Merrilies declares, that death quits all scores,
equally true is it that severe illness suspends all
antagonism. The illness, even of an enemy, demands
a suspension of hostilities ; the illness of a friend calls
out all our sympathies, and evokes action to help

264 CONDUCT book n

him ; the illness of a stranger, if he is within the
sphere of our action, elicits from us kindly offices,
even if they are limited to sympathetic inquiries
only.

The aid that is given to others in the matter of
livelihood, is apt to be restricted by the fierceness of
the competition for livelihood that obtains in most
societies ; but we are always glad to be of assistance,
in this respect, to those whose competition we do not
fear; and, to those whose means of livelihood altogether
fail, especially if the failure is from no fault of their
own, assistance is freely rendered. In nothing is the
Christian doctrine more emphatic than in inculcating
the duty of relieving the necessities of the poor ; and
in no other direction is the sympathetic action of
mankind more widely diffused, or more deeply
engaged. The amount of money alone that is dis-
tributed annually in this country, in relief of distress,
is staggering ; and in personal service, the labour
thus expended is enormous.

In the foregoing respects, the duty of every one to
contribute actively to the welfare of his fellows, is
well recognised ; and is, on the whole, very well ful-
filled ; but the next class of active duties — that of
assisting our neighbours socially — is not so well
appreciated. Yet if, as is universally allowed, it is
our duty to help our neighbour in the one respect,
I see no reason why it should not be equally re-
cognised as a duty to help him in the other. It will
surely be admitted that to secure the estimation, the
approval, and the liking of our fellows, are conditions
of the very highest importance to our well-being ;

CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 265

and if it is our duty to our neighbours to assist their
well-being in the matters of rescue from danger, pre-
servation of health, and prevention of starvation, I
see nothing to excuse us from the duty of forwarding
their welfare by aiding them to secure the apprecia-
tion of their fellows. If a man's conduct is such
that it earns him our esteem, our approbation, or our
liking, we owe to him the duty of expressing our
applause, our approval, or our liking, as the case may
be. Our appreciation is to be expressed freely and
ungrudgingly, and is not to be suppressed or re-
stricted on account of any hostility that we may feel
towards him. More than this, we owe him, — in less
degree, but we owe him, — the duty, not merely of
expressing our appreciation, but of contradicting un-
favourable criticism of him, if we regard it as untrue
or unfair. Whether we are or are not bound to go
beyond this, and make known to others, facts which
would secure their appreciation also of him, must
depend on time, place, and circumstance. We need
not send the bellman round to proclaim his virtues ;
but we may, and ought, if occasion arises, to say
what we can in his favour.

In the remaining departments of conduct, the
obligation of assisting our fellows lies lightly upon
us. We do not often have the opportunity of assist-
ing people in their marital or parental relations, nor
in aiding them in matters of religion. Churlishness
in respect of withholding information in satisfac-
tion of their legitimate curiosity, is not a frequent
failing ; and most people possess sufficient good
nature to take part in those recreations that are

266 CONDUCT

desired by others, but cannot be pursued without
assistance.

Active beneficence is, unhappily, often deficient.
Widespread and deeply fixed as is the desire to
cherish the young, and to preserve them from danger,
the fact that some communities recognise a settled
practice of infanticide, shows that it is not universal.
Wide and deep as is the instinctive chivalry towards
woman and old age, the existence of communities
in which women are but slaves, and the old are
slaughtered as useless incumbrances, shows us that
the instinct is of late origin, and therefore not very
firmly ingrained. The weak and ailing are cherished
and protected, it is true, but the pity with which
they are regarded is not always free from contempt ;
and we see of how late origin the protective instinct
towards them is, when we note how children despise,
and even jeer at, the deformed ; towards whom,
indeed, most people experience an instinctive re-
pulsion, of which they are ashamed, and which
they overcome ; but which, nevertheless, has to be
overcome.

Much discussion has taken place, of late years, as
to the uneconomic and uneugenic results of the
sedulous care that is taken of those who are bodily
or mentally unfit to struggle for their own existence,
and are a mere burden upon the society to which
they belong. From time to time, radical proposals
are made to deal with this burden by means of lethal
chambers, and other drastic measures ; but such pro-
posals ignore the deeply rooted sympathy, which is so
characteristic and so vitally important a quality in

CHAP. XVI CONFLICT OF INSTINCTS 267

social humanity ; and all such proposals are fore-
doomed to failure. Nevertheless, it is well to re-
member that in any direction conduct may be
pushed to excess, and that whatever excess of care
and luxury are lavished upon the unfit, is lavished
at the expense of the fit, whose fitness is diminished,
or at least is kept below what is possible, thereby.

If we review these chapters on Social Conduct, we
find that by far the greater part of the conduct that
is imposed upon us by our membership of an organised
community, may be summed up in the single word —
Eenunciation. To share the advantages of common
life in any degree ; to taste the sweets of companion-
ship ; to gain the advantage of common action against
enemies ; of protection in helplessness ; of nurture
in sickness ; of nourishing in poverty and starvation ;
to enjoy the delights of being approved, admired,
applauded, loved ; to attain the rarer and more
refined satisfaction of rendering services to others ; to
participate in the luxuries and glories of an advanced
civilisation ; for all these advantages a price must
be paid, and the price -is renunciation. In many re-
spects, every member of a community must renounce
his liberty of action. He may no longer comport
himself with the freedom and abandon that would
be allowable to a solitary man. He must restrain
himself in every direction, and on every occasion, in
which he is associated with his fellows ; and a con-
siderable share of his labours must be diverted from
the service of his own individual welfare, to the
service of the community to which he belongs.

268 CONDUCT book n

Although social life is of incalculable service to
every individual who partakes in it, yet we must
recognise that, to a considerable extent, and in con-
siderable degree, social life is inimical, is even
antagonistic, to individual life. On balance, indeed,
the advantage, to the individual, of membership of a
community, is incalculable ; but the advantage is on
balance only. It does not extend through and
through. The advantage must be paid for, and the
reckoning is sometimes heavy. Moreover, it does
not fall with equal incidence upon all, nor is the
reckoning to be paid by any means proportionate to
the benefit received. Those who obtain the greatest
advantages from social life, sometimes get off scot-
free ; those who benefit least by it, have, in some
cases, to pay most heavily for advantages that go
mainly to others. The incapable, the feeble in body
and mind, the drone, and the waster, enjoy very
many of the advantages of social life, and contribute,
in return, nothing to the advance, the security, the
stability, or the welfare of the community that
supports them. The reward of the toiler is by no
means proportionate to the arduousness of his toil.
It depends on many other considerations. For this
reason, a certain proportion of every community is
discontented, restless, and desirous to change, or even
to subvert, the existing social order ; and the history
of nations, in as far as it is not a history of external
strife, is a history of internal strife — of efforts to
distribute the advantages of social life, sometimes
with greater evenness, sometimes with more reference
to the exertions which make social life possible.

CHAI.XVI CONFLICT OF INSTINCTS 269

Greater evenness of the distribution of social benefits
is slowly being attained. More and more, the social
advantages, of freedom from the fear of starvation,
education, transport from place to place, security of
life, liberty, and property, of rights and privileges
of every description, of luxuries even, are becoming
generally and more evenly diffused throughout all
classes of the community. But the classes remain ;
and every member of every class is dissatisfied with
his position, and desires to rise higher in his class,
or to rise into a higher class than his own. Such
ambition is, on balance, salutary and beneficial to the
community ; for, if every member of the community
rises in the scale, the community as a whole rises,
not merely in the scale of communities, but in an
absolute sense. But the gain is still on balance only.
It is accompanied by drawbacks, and one great and
manifest drawback is the instability that is of necessity
produced by restlessness and change. Hence, those
who are impressed by the unequal distribution of
wealth and other advantages, are for ever striving
towards what seems to them greater justice ; and
those who recognise the danger of instability and
change, are for ever opposing and minimising change;
and the resultant of the opposing forces is altogether
salutary. The one tendency assures a constant
advance towards a juster distribution ; the other
secures that the advance shall be well considered,
gradual, and attended with the least disturbance of
stability and danger of disintegration.

To the race, and, in the scheme of nature, it
is the race alone that counts, the welfare of the

270 CONDUCT book h

community is paramount over the welfare of the
individual. If, therefore, the community is to sur-
vive, its citizens must be prepared to sacrifice, not
only that moiety of their personal liberty that we
have seen to be a necessary condition to social life,
but, upon occasion, everything else, to the welfare of
the community. They must be prepared to sacrifice
luxuries, comfort, necessaries ; to undergo hardship,
toil, privation ; to incur starvation, disease, the
extremes of heat and cold, wounds and death itself,
if the welfare of the community demands it. Hence,
the welfare of the community and that of the
individual are always to some degree opposed, and,
on occasion, may become incompatible. When that
occasion arises, it is necessary, for the survival of the
race, that the individual should give way, and submit
to be sacrificed for the welfare of the community.
Renunciation, while always in some measure an
element in, and a condition to, social life, is now and
then demanded to the uttermost; and, unless the
individual is prepared to pay the uttermost price,
the community must perish, and with it must perish
the stirp. Now, each course of conduct — that which
serves the welfare and survival of the individual, and
that which serves the welfare and survival of the
community — has its own set of instinctive desires,
which prompt to the appropriate conduct ; and since
the several modes of conduct are always to some
extent opposed ; and since, on occasion, this opposition
rises to actual incompatibility ; the instincts also are
opposed, and become, on occasion, incompatible.
Of the two sets of instincts, the self-regarding are

CHAP. XVI CONFLICT OF INSTINCTS 271

immeasurably older than the social, and, on that
account, are the stronger. Yet for a time, which
also is immeasurably great, although, in comparison
with the duration of the self-regarding instincts, it is
insignificant, the social instincts have been the more
important. For no individual is indispensable to
the survival of the society to which he belongs ; but
the society is indispensable to the survival of every
individual it contains. Therefore, when the two
instincts, the self-regarding and the social, rise into
acute antagonism, and become incompatible, it is
essential to the survival of the stirp — the ultimate
aim of all organic life — that the social instinct should
preponderate over the self- regarding. The self-
regarding instincts, being of so much greater antiquity,
are naturally the stronger ; consequently, if the social
instincts are to prevail over them, it is advisable, it
may even be necessary, that the social should be
reinforced by artificial or quasi-artificial aids ; and
this we find to be the case. Pure patriotism — the
mere desire to sacrifice oneself for the benefit of the
community — is not yet become a sufficiently power-
ful motive, in most natures, to overcome the desire
for self-preservation. Hence it is reinforced by other
motives, some of which are innate instincts, others
inculcated under supernatural sanctions. Of the
soldiers who fight gallantly for their country, a small
proportion only are animated by pure patriotism.
The larger number are actuated by the motives of
emulation, of desire for admiration, of desire to avoid
reprobation, of domination to the will of others ;
all these motives are called in to reinforce the social

272 CONDUCT

instinct, and enable it to overpower the self-regarding
instinct. In the more ordinary course of social life,
the main opposition is between the self-regarding
instinct, of pursuing our own ease and gratification
by the indulgence of our selfish desires, and the social
instinct, which demands self-restraint, and the avoid-
ance of encroachment on the activities of others. In
this case, as in the former, but in this case more
particularly, the social instinct is reinforced by the
sanctions of law and of religion. The law is a vast and
complex scheme for preventing infractions of social
regulations, that is to say for punishing those self-
regarding encroachments on the activity of others,
that are detrimental to the welfare of the community,
but that the social instincts are not themselves
sufl&ciently powerful to prevent. The law is, in fact,
ancillary to the social instincts ; and its purpose is
to make good the defect in their potency. The
inculcations of the divine, in as far as they prescribe
our duty to our neighbour, have the same general
purpose as the provisions of the legislator ; from
which they differ, first in their more general character,
and in laying down the general rules that the law
applies to individual cases ; and second, in the nature
of the sanction, which is no longer fine and imprison-
ment, but the displeasure of the Deity, and whatever
consequences that displeasure may involve.

From a biological point of view, therefore, morality
is, in this department, the preponderance of social
conduct over self- regarding conduct ; the practice of
morality is difficult, because, and in as far as, self-
regarding instincts are of much greater antiquity in

CHAP. XVI SPONTANEOUS MORALITY 273

the race, and therefore more uniformly powerful in
their incidence, than social instincts. The inculcation
of morality under religious sanction, is a reinforcement
of social instincts, rendered necessary by the relative
weakness of these instincts, in comparison with those
which are self-regarding. It is true that this re-
inforcement of the social instincts does not cover the
whole field of morality ; but it constitutes a very
important part of morality. The remainder will be
dealt with in considering the next field of conduct.

CHAPTER XVII

SOCIAL-RACIAL CONDUCT

Chastity and Modesty

There is a department of conduct of considerable
extent, that owes its existence to motives that
belong equally to the conservation of the community
and the preservation of the race ; and conduct of
this nature occupies a position intermediate between
these two modes. This is conduct prompted by
the instinct of Chastity, and its auxiliary, Sexual
Modesty, a motive very different from that sup-
pression of vainglory which goes by the name of
Modesty in social conduct.

The unit of social life is, as has already been
insisted on, not the individual, but the family. It
is in the cohesion of the family that social life
originated. The earliest societies, and the most
primitive societies, consist of the members of a single
family ; and owe their preservation, in great part, to
the sanctity that is attached to the family tie. The
primitive state of society is a state of war — of conflict
with other societies. This is the chief mode of
struggle in the earlier stages of the social struggle
for life ; and it is, no doubt, the mutual aid aff"orded

274

CHAP. XVII CHASTITY AND MODESTY 275

to one another by the members of a family, that
brought about that cohesion of the family, after the
age of self-conservation of its members was attained,
that is the earliest stage of social life. If the society
is to hold together, its internal conduct — the conduct
of its members with respect to one another, — must
be harmonious. A house divided against itself
cannot stand. Strife between the members of a
community is gregicidal. In advanced communities,
the main occasion of internal strife is property. The
vast majority of actions at law, which are the mode
in which internal strife is now conducted, are actions
with respect to the ownership of property. In
many primitive communities, this cause of strife is
eliminated, or reduced to a minimum, by the absence
of the causa belli. There is little or no strife about
property, because there is little or no property. The
main forms of primitive wealth — lands, dwellings,
cattle — are held in common by the tribe. The second
cause of internecine strife is resentment against
interference, by any one, with the liberty of any
other. To this, in the last resort, all provocation,
that is not sexual, may be reduced. Whatever check
is exercised upon aggression of this description, is
exercised mainly by the dread of retaliation upon
the aggressor ; and to some extent, also, by dread of
the disapprobation of the community. The third
great source of internecine strife is sexual jealousy ;
and in order that sexual jealousy, together with the
strife that it occasions, may be minimised, various
customs are prevalent in different primitive com-
munities. I do not say that these customs have

276 CONDUCT book n

been deliberately or consciously instituted, for the
set and understood purpose of minimising the strife
that arises from sexual jealousy ; but that the fact
that they do, in practice, minimise this source of
strife, has given the communities, in which these
customs prevail, an advantage in the struggle for life
over those in which they, or customs of equal potency
in preventing internal strife, did not prevail ; and
hence, those communities in which the customs pre-
vailed, have survived ; and those without this
advantage have been extirpated.

One of these customs is exogamy. There is no
more fertile and pernicious source of internal strife
among the members of any tribe, than a bloodthirsty
competition between the young males, upon whom
the tribe must largely depend in war, for the hands
of the females ; and any custom which eradicates
this cause of strife, must be of great service to the
community in its struggle for life. If the girls of
the tribe are taboo to the men of the tribe, strife on
this account is eradicated ; and if, instead of rival
courtship within the tribe, by which enmity and
jealousy between both men and women is engendered
and accentuated, there are raids upon neighbouring
tribes for wives, it is clear that internecine strife on
this account is minimised. Much controversy has
taken place as to whether exogamy or endogamy
was the original custom, or what is the primitive
custom of marriage ; but if marriage customs are
regarded from the point of view of the life- worthiness
of the tribe, it seems probable, as indeed research
indicates, that no custom is universal ; but that that

CHAP. XVII CHASTITY AND MODESTY 277

is adopted which best suits the circumstances of the
adopting tribe. It is clear that, where polyandry-
prevails, sexual jealousy can scarcely exist ; and
where tribes are isolated, or the tribal tie is loose,
there exogamy can scarcely prevail ; but that in
appropriate circumstances, in a tribe in which sexual
jealousy is strongly developed, exogamy must tend
strongly to the preservation of intra-tribal harmony.
The importance of the sanctity of the family to
the survival of the family (and therefore of the tribe,
as an enlargement of the family, or an aggregation
of families), renders the practice of monandry of great
importance to the life-worthiness of the community.
There is no instance of a community in which
monandry is not prevalent, having risen from the
lowest rank. There are instances of communities,
that had reached a very high stage of civilisation,
perishing and being blotted out, when the principle
of monandry was seriously and widely infringed.
Hence the communal importance of female chastity ;
for female chastity is founded on, and is necessary to,
monandry. The sexual jealousy of the male is an
instinct that mankind shares with very many of the
lower animals of all classes, all orders, and all grades ;
and when a man is united for life to a woman, as is
the custom in all communities of men that have risen
above the lowest grade, the faithfulness of wives is
a necessary condition of the internal peace of the
community, and therefore of its survival. Now, the
faithfulness of the wives can be secured in two ways,
and in two only : — by the vigilance of the husbands,
or by the disinclination of the wives to be unfaithful.

278 CONDUCT book n

Of these alternatives, the latter is manifestly by far
the most economical. If the husband can secure the
faithfulness of his wife only by incessant vigilance,
his capacity of taking part in other modes of action
is very seriously impaired ; and if all the husbands in
a community have to occupy much of their time in
this way, the community that contains them will
stand no chance in the struggle for life, against one
in which the inherent chastity of the women sets the
men free to perfect themselves in warlike exercises,
and to occupy themselves in securing, in other ways,
their own welfare, and that of the tribe at large.
Hence, those tribes in which the women are chaste
by innate desire will, caeteris paribus, always prevail
over those in which the women are chaste only by
external compulsion. In other words, female chastity
is a great national asset ; and will tend, by the action
of natural selection, to be fixed and intensified in
the women of every militant community.

This may be the explanation of a curious fact that
has been observed in some primitive communities —
that the unmarried girls give themselves up to
wanton licentiousness, while the married women are
strictly faithful to the marriage tie. This seems to
indicate that chastity originates in the married, and
is at first confined to them, and spreads later to the
unmarried women. A social state in which some of
the women are under an obligation of strict chastity,
while others are free from any such obligation,
appears ipso facto unstable ; and it seems clear that
the obligation of chastity would stand a much better
chance of strict observance, if it were impartially

CHASTITY 279

imposed upon all. It is, perhaps, for this reason
that the state of things sketched above is rare ; and
rarity in such a case probably means transience.
Chastity confined to the married, seems inevitably
to be a temporary stage of society : one that is likely
to change in one of two directions. Either unchastity
will spread from the single to the married, and the
community will be at a disadvantage, and go under
in the struggle with other communities ; or chastity
will spread from the married to the single, and
become the rule throughout the community. Hence,
in all communities that have survived long enough
to reach a moderate height of development, we find
the rule of chastity prevails among women, both
married and unmarried.

We have seen that the weaker intensity of social
instincts, that results from their inferior antiquity in
the history of the race, to the self-regarding instincts,
has led, in instance after instance, to the reinforce-
ment of the social instinct by social sanctions. The
reluctance of the individual to sacrifice his life, when
required for the welfare of the community, is not left
to be overcome by the mere force of the patriotic
instinct. Lest this instinct should prove too weak,
it is reinforced by others — by the dread of the dis-
approbation, contempt, and revenge of the com-
munity ; by the desire for approbation and admira-
tion, even if posthumous only ; and by the desire for
combat, which is still potent in some men. Similarly,
the instinctive motive of chastity, which, as we see by
comparison with the animals nearest in nature to
ourselves, is of comparatively recent origin, and is

280 CONDUCT

BOOK II

liable, therefore, to lapse and fail under the stress of
temptation, is reinforced by other motives. For
lapses from chastity is reserved the most intense
disapprobation that the female part of the community
can entertain ; the most merciless disapprobation
that it can express ; and the dread of incurring this
disapprobation reinforces the innate instinct of
chastity, with a sanction of terrible potency. This
innate instinct varies much in efficiency, both in
different races and in different individual women in
the same race ; and in some is so lacking, in com-
parison with the temptation to which the woman
is subjected, that even when reinforced by all the
terrors of the social sanction, it is insufficient to
safeguard her chastity. A second reinforcement, a
third motive for the preservation of chastity, has
therefore come into existence — the religious sanction.
Next to the holding of opinions destructive to itself,
religion reserves its strongest reprobation for lapses
from chastity, and relegates them to the blackest
category of sin.

Chastity in the male is by no means so much
valued ; departures from it by the male meet with a
far milder reprobation than those of the female sex.
The ordinary explanation is that such lapses on the
part of the male are of less social importance, since
they do not introduce bastards into the family. It
does not seem that this explanation covers the
ground. So long as the number of the family is
maintained, it does not appear to be important to
the conservation of the community, that the children
nurtured in a family should have but one father. In

CHAP. XVII

CHASTITY 281

fact, the recognition of step-children, and adopted
children, shows that a family may well live united in
a group, even though the children do not all own
the same father ; and common sayings indicate that
the family harmony sutlers more when the mothers
are different, than when the fathers are different.
The greater tolerance of unchastity in the male seems
rather to be correlated with the widespread practice
of polygamy in primitive societies, and even in some,
as the Mohammedan, of an advanced position in the
scale of civilisation. The practice of polygamy
naturally leads to, and is bound up with, an in-
equality in the position of the wives. In every
polygamous family there is usually one favourite
wife, who is not merely the first in the husband's
affections, but takes rank of the others, stands in
what is looked on, and may be in law, a more
intimate union with the husband than the other
wives ; who are relegated to a position that approxi-
mates, more or less closely, to concubinage. From
this it is but a step to concubinage, or semi-marriage ;
and, when this is permitted to the husband, it would
seem pedantic to require him to confine his amours
to those who are thus irregularly related to him, to
the exclusion of those who are not related at all. It
would be incorrect, probably, to say that jealousy in
the female is less developed than in the male ; but it
would seem that its expression is attended with
consequences less disastrous to the community. It
does not withdraw, as jealousy in the male tends to
withdraw, the fighting and striving members of the
community from these functions, in order that they

282 CONDUCT

BOOK II

may exercise watchfulness over the other sex, and
safeguard the integrity of their honour. It is
probable that it is in such considerations as these,
that we shall find the origin of the greater laxity of
the attitude of the community towards unchastity
in the male — the recognition of the desirability of
male chastity is of later origin ; and unchastity in the
male is less detrimental to the welfare of the com-
munity.

Sexual Modesty

Chastity and sexual modesty are closely related,
but they are not inseparable. Chastity finds in
modesty a powerful ally, but may exist without
modesty ; and, while chastity is a matter of vital
importance to the community, and therefore to the
race, modesty, though much more nearly universal,
is largely a matter of convention, of fashion, and of
custom.

Of all modes of conduct, sexual modesty is the
most distinctively human. None of the lower
animals appears to exhibit even a rudiment of it, and
scarcely any race of human beings is totally destitute
of modesty.

The origin of sexual modesty is not difficult to
trace. It was pointed out years ago by Grant Allen,
that those pleasures and pains that are occasioned by
experiences the most directly concerned with the
continuation of the race, and the preservation of the
life of the individual, are, by common consent, held
to be the most degraded ; while those are the most
elevated, whose occasions are the most remote from

SEXUAL MODESTY 283

these necessary functions. Of all functions, that of
reproduction is the most fundamental, the most
primordial, and, according to the law of Grant Allen,
therefore the most degraded. To keep it in the
background, to smother and conceal it under a mass
of instincts more and more remote from it, though
leading directly towards it, is the function of sexual
modesty, and so effectually is this function performed,
that the lowest, grossest, and most bestial of human
passions is etherialised into one of the highest, the
most refined, and the most admirable. Lust is trans-
formed and refined into love.

The essence of sexual modesty is concealment.
Everything concerned in crude sexuality is to be
concealed ; and, with the growth of modesty, conceal-
ment is extended to matters more and more remote
from concern with crude sexuality. The earliest mani-
festation of modesty is a scanty loin-cloth — ' nothing
much before, and rather less than half of that behind.'
From the primary organs of reproduction, concealment
spreads to the secondary ; and the first extension of
modesty is the concealment of the breasts. From
these beginnings, concealment is extended, from the
hips to the ankles, and from the breast to the wrists,
until, in some communities, modesty demands of a
woman that she keep even her face concealed. In
all times and places, there is a certain convention and
fashion in the precise amount of concealment that
modesty demands ; but everywhere there is a limit,
to fall short of which incurs the reproach and the
shame of immodesty. This limit is determined purely
by convention ; and it is curious that the convention

284 CONDUCT

varies within surprisingly wide limits, even in the
same society, on different occasions. To be seen in a
decollete costume in the street, or in a bathing
costume in the house, would be considered grossly
immodest ; but there is nothing immodest in wearing
these costumes in circumstances that convention has
fixed as appropriate.

Whatever concealment is practised under the
instinct of modesty, must be stripped away before the
reproductive function can be exercised ; and con-
versely, any stripping away of concealment suggests,
more or less remotely, an approach to the exercise of
this function. Hence, any beginning of the removal
of concealment is violently antagonistic to modesty,
and is repelled and resisted, unless it take place in
privacy. A modest woman is ashamed to be seen
even with her hair down, or with her bodice un-
fastened ; even though the garment beneath envelops
her as completely as that which is loosened.

Modesty demands that not only the person, but
the conduct, shall be such as to ignore the existence
of the reproductive function. Attitude, gesture,
movement, conversation, must not only not suggest
its existence, but must be conducted as if it did not
exist. A modest woman keeps herself concealed
when pregnancy is sufficiently advanced to be notice-
able ; and this concealment extends from the primary
function of reproduction to all its auxiliaries and
approaches. The passion for concealment extends
even to love itself, the most refined and sublimated
mode of sexual passion. Love is not acknowledged,
either to the loved object, or to the world at large.

CHAP. XVII

SEXUAL MODESTY 285

or even to the loving woman herself. Even the
approaches of courtship are made under cover of
other pretexts. The interviews so eagerly desired,
must be contrived by manoeuvring, and sought osten-
sibly for other ends. Even the adornments of the
person, and the graces of demeanour, that are assumed
for the purposes of sexual attraction, must be set
down to some other motive ; and any allusion to
their true purpose results in confusion and em-
barrassment.

The suppression of all manifestation of a state of
mind is not without result upon the state of mind
itself. It may conduce to either of two results. It
may end in the actual temporary suppression of that
state of mind ; or even in its permanent atrophy and
disappearance ; or it may end in irregular and tumul-
tuous manifestation. The suppression, under the
influence of modesty and convention, of the mani-
festation of love, or of grosser sexual desire, furnishes
us with instances of both eSects.

Astonishing as it seems, it is nevertheless a fact
testified to by frequent experience, that the oldest,
most primordial, and most fundamental of desires —
that in which all other desires have their root, and to
which all others are subordinate and subsidiary, —
may yet prove evanescent, and may disappear, leav-
ing but few traces behind it. We cannot ignore the
influence of the superior modesty of women, in bring-
ing it about that they fall in love later, and more
seldom, than do men. It is clear that, if this tendency
is pushed to excess, it will end in the love of women
being a passion so mild and transitory that it exerts

286 CONDUCT book n

little influence on their lives ; or even in their failure
to fall in love at all. There is good reason to suppose
that there is an increasing number of women in whom
the capacity to fall in love is but little developed ;
and who look upon their more fully equipped sisters
with contempt. Moreover, it is certain that there is
a large, and probably increasing number of women,
who, whether single or married, never experience that
grosser sexual desire which forms such an important
part of the life of the male. In this respect, the
more highly organised human communities exhibit an
approximation to the highly organised communities
of bees, wasps, and ants ; in which there are three
sexes — males, females, and neuters, — the latter being
females in whom the reproductive function remains
undeveloped. It is curious that in these insect com-
munities, the neutral females preponderate in number
over the sexually perfect members of the community,
and do all the work ; leaving to these no function but
that of reproduction ; and in the most completely
organised human communities, the females pre-
ponderate in number ; large numbers of them ex-
perience but mildly or not at all the normal craving
of sex ; or at any rate, allow to the activities of sex
but an insignificant portion of their lives ; and are
claiming a larger share in the work of the community.
In the male, the excessive action of modesty
rarely or never leads to suppression of the sexual
instinct. It does, however, not seldom embarrass
him in the pursuit of courtship. It is for him to
make opportunities for social contact, to show his
hand, to press his attentions, to exhibit the ardour

SEXUAL MODESTY 287

that he feels ; but in this endeavour he is constantly
thwarted by his modesty, which compels him to
conceal his passion. Love impels him to court the
woman of his choice ; modesty inhibits him from open
admiration. Even when time, place, and circum-
stance are favourable ; even when he has gained a
private interview, and longs to declare his passion ;
modesty intervenes, and imposes an unconquerable
obstacle. He is bold enough, and glib enough, when
the object of his affections is not by ; but in her
presence, modesty ties his tongue, confuses his mind,
and makes his knees to shake ; and, without very
positive encouragement, he may go away without
effecting his purpose.

CHAPTER XVIII

RACIAL CONDUCT

The third great department of conduct is that which
is devoted to the end of continuing the race, and is,
as has been said, probably the root from which all
modes of conduct have grown. It is the ultimate
end of all organic life, and the primary motive of all
conduct.

We have already seen that social life, while it is
of enormous advantage in many ways to the in-
dividual ; and enables him to reach a stage of develop-
ment, and a pitch of happiness, that would be
impossible to a solitary ; is yet, in some respects,
antagonistic to the life of its individual components.
Social life demands always self-restraint, and, on
occasion, total self-sacrifice. The social instincts and
the self-regarding instincts are always opposed, and
sometimes become incompatible. What is true of
social instincts is true in enhanced degree of repro-
ductive instincts. From beginning to end, the process
of reproduction is bound up with sacrifice of self on
the part of the parent, and needs self-sacrifice for its
fulfilment.

Racial or reproductive conduct, although it is the

288

CHAP. XVIII

COURTSHIP 289

ultimate end of all life, and although it dominates
both self-regarding conduct and social conduct, and
easily overbears and supersedes them, yet differs from
them in being intermittent, and enacted at intervals
only ; while the others are wellnigh continuous. Our
vigilance over our own conservation may seldom
relax, or we should soon suffer for the lapse. The
greater part of our lives is spent in association, more
or less intimate, with others ; and while that associa-
tion exists, our social activities and restraints must
be maintained. But courtship occupies us at intervals
only, and during a very brief period of our lives ; the
mere act of reproduction is of no long duration ; and
the care of children does not begin until we are well
into adult life ; occupies most of us, at intervals only,
for a series of years ; and ceases with the approach of
old age.

As just intimated, racial conduct begins with the
earliest approaches of courtship, and endures until all
the children are established in life, and fitted to take
up, in their turn, the task of continuing the race.

Courtship

In courtship, the desires and the conduct of the
two sexes are not similar, but are complementary and
reciprocal. In courtship, the male is active ; his
role is to court, to pursue, to possess, to control, to
protect, to love. The role of the female is passive.
She desires to be courted, to be pursued, to be pos-
sessed, controlled, protected, loved. This different
apportionment of conduct in the two sexes is of

u

290 CONDUCT BOOK II

universal prevalence. It holds good, not only in the
human race. Throughout the animal kingdom, and
indeed in the vegetable world also, the female passively
awaits the active approach of the male. The dis-
tinction rests, no doubt, upon the ultimate and
fundamental difference of the male and female
elements — the sperm and the germ. The first is
locomotor ; the second is non-locomotor. From the
point of view of racial persistence, the individual is
nothing but an apparatus for containing, protecting,
and perfecting the sexual element or elements, and
for bringing them together when they are mature.
In those cases in which the germ and sperm are both
elaborated in the same individual, that is, in true
hermaphroditism, the individual is maritally neutral ;
but wherever the sexes are separate, they partake of
the nature of their own sexual elements. Biologically,
the female is of no importance, except as the hostess
and nurse of the germ ; the male is of no importance,
except as the host and carrier of the sperm. Con-
sequently, the marital role of the male is actively to
search for, and pursue the female ; the marital role
of the female is passively to await and expect the
advances of the male.

Consequent on this fundamental difference are
certain others. For pursuit, greater ardour is
necessary than for mere reception ; and the court-
ing activity of the male is, throughout the whole
animal kingdom, more ardent than that of the female ;
and this greater ardour is correlated with certain
other differences.

Being more ardent, men are less critical. No

CHAP. XVIII

COURTSHIP 291

doubt, women often fall in love with very inappro-
priate objects ; but, not having the headlong ardour
of the male, the female adolescent does not often
emulate the calf-love of the male, which may be
directed towards anything that has the shape and
attributes of a woman ; and is as often fixed upon a
woman old enough to be his mother, or impossibly
dififerent in rank and station, or utterly unattractive
to any one but himself, as upon a young and beautiful
girl in his own rank of life. Attachments as inappro-
priate, of the female, are not unknown ; but they
are much less frequent. The greater passivity of
the female allows of more careful selection, and the
mesalliance of a woman is much rarer than that of
a man.

Though man attains to sexual maturity later than
woman, and usually marries a woman younger than
himself — disparity in the opposite direction is felt
to be a little unnatural — yet he falls in love earlier
and more readily. A young man is always liable to
fall head over ears in love with any moderately
attractive woman that he happens to meet ; but a
woman passes by many a man who might be sup-
posed to be attractive to her, before she loses her
heart ; and usually does not fall in love till a later
age than her brother.

Again, consonantly with their natural ardour, men
fall in love, not only early, but often. No doubt
they are desolate when they are rejected, but their
desolation is not usually long-lived. The cavity left
in their affections, by the extraction of the beloved
object, is soon filled up by the insertion of another.

292 CONDUCT book n

A man rarely marries his first love. He may have
loved a dozen or more before he makes his final
selection ; and, consonantly, he is more fickle than
woman. His affection is transferred without much
difficulty, and with no long interval between, from
one object to another. Woman loves, on the whole,
later, less readily, less frequently, and with greater
constancy. Many women have but a single arrow
in their quiver, and if this misses the target, they
are left weaponless. The multitude of attractive
and admirable women who become old maids, are
not left unmarried for want of offers. If we could
learn their histories, we should find in each a tragedy.
In earlier days they have loved, but their love was
unsuccessful. The man they loved died ; or he jilted
them ; or he turned out a scamp ; or relatives inter-
fered for one reason or another ; or he was too poor ;
or there was an estrangement — a misunderstanding
that was never cleared up ; or, perchance, he was
attached to some one else, and never looked their
way. Some reason there was why her arrow missed
its mark ; and having once given all her love, she
had no more to give ; or, owing to the naturally
greater constancy of the female, by the time her
wound was healed, she had ceased to be attractive
to marriageable men. To put the matter crudely,
and with some exaggeration, when a woman loves,
she loves one particular man, and must have him
and no other ; when a man loves, he loves a woman
— any woman who is sufficiently attractive — and if
she is not available, he finds little difficulty in trans-
ferring his afi'ections to another. Woman is by

COURTSHIP 293

nature a monogamist ; man has in him the elements
of a polygamist.

As the desire of woman in courtship is of the
passive class — is not to court, but to be courted ; not
to pursue, but to be pursued ; not so much to control,
protect, love, as to be controlled, protected, loved, —
so her conduct is much less active than that of the
man. It is mainly passive, but it is not wholly
passive. As he pursues, she retires. Without
retirement on her part, there can be no pursuit on
his, and the rules of the game would not be observed.
The first approach of courtship by man, is met by
shrinking of the woman ; and man is so constituted,
that this very shrinking increases his ardour. But
shrinking is not the only activity exercised by the
woman in courtship. AVhile it is his to pursue, it is
her part to allure ; and the peculiarity of the allure-
ment is that it must be, or appear, undesigned and
unintentional, or its effect is not merely lost, but
reversed. Deliberate allurement, manifestly designed
and intended, is not alluring, but repellent ; and
yet, without some allurement, there will scarcely be
courtship. It seems, therefore, that women are in a
peculiarly hard case, and that no courtship could ever
progress to a happy conclusion ; but it fortunately
happens that many women are so attractive in face,
figure, demeanour, or character, that these of them-
selves constitute sufiicient allurement ; and that men
at the period, and in the pursuit, of courtship, are so
blind, that allurements of the most transparently
artificial character, appear to them unconscious and
undesigned.

294 CONDUCT book h

AVliile these are the respective parts of the man
and the woman in courtship ; parts that are reciprocal,
and complementary, and contrasted with each other ;
yet it is very frequent for the man to exhibit some
feminine qualities, and for the woman to exhibit
some smack of masculine qualities in courtship. For
the primary characters of sex to be commingled, or
indefinite in their demarcation, is extremely rare.
A true hermaphrodite is almost unknown. But
the pseudo- hermaphrodite is not extremely rare.
Occasionally, we find the secondary characters of sex
misplaced, so that the male has the smooth face, the
high-pitched voice, the mammary development, and
the rounded contour of the female ; or the female has
the facial hirsuteness, the deep voice, the want of
mammary development, and the narrow hips of the
male. The tertiary sexual qualities are very often
commingled ; and what may be termed a mental
hermaphrodism, is frequent enough. We find men
with the characteristic womanly qualities of passivity ;
of willingness to be controlled and protected rather
than eagerness to control and protect ; of tact rather
than domination ; of intuition rather than reasoning ;
of sympathy and pity rather than of equity and
justice. In such cases we find that, in courtship,
the male practises allurement by finicking attention
to dress ; the female pursues with some approach to
the ardour of the male ; we find men who emulate
women in the constancy of their afiections ; and
women who resemble men in the ease and frequency
with which their afi'ections are transferred ; men who
are fastidious, and fall in love but once, — women

CHAP, xviii COURTSHIP 295

who are far from being eclectic, and even are prone
to mesalliance.

The natural ardour of the male ensures that, in
this sex, mere defect in the activity of courtship is
infrequent. There are, indeed, those who are brought
up from childhood to the prospect of joining a
celibate priesthood, and whose activity in this respect
is subdued and suppressed ; and it must be admitted
that, in most cases at the present day, the suppression
is surprisingly complete and effectual ; but the history
of monasticism is one long record of broken vows
and disappointed aspirations. Bishops, Archbishops,
Popes, Kings, and Princes ; Philosophers, such as
Jovinian and Erasmus ; Demagogues, such as Piers
Plowman ; Fathers of the Church, such as Augustin
and Chrysostom ; Monks, such as Dunstan ; Friars,
such as Bonaventura ; and Councils of the Church ;
deplored, in one continuous denunciation, extending
over many centuries, the disorders, corruptions, and
scandals of monastic bodies. Naturam expellas
furca — . No doubt monastic and clerical vows of
celibacy are better observed in these days, but
outside of this class, the number of men who do not
in early life exhibit activity in courtship, is very
small indeed. It is true that, in the cases of a few
distinguished men, of whom Macaulay is the most
conspicuous example, there is no record of a love
affair ; but then our record of their lives is probably
incomplete. Even in such a misanthropist as Swift,
courtship was not wanting, even in middle life ; and
the total absence of the inclination must be extremely
rare. Less infrequent in the courting activities of

296 CONDUCT book h

men, is the presence of a certain element of femininity,
in a constancy, and inability of ready transfer of tlie
affections, which is more characteristic of the female
than of the male. Here and there we find a case,
even in the male, in which a single unsuccessful
courtship has led to permanent discontinuance of
this mode of conduct, and subsidence into a life of
voluntary celibacy. More frequent is excess of
ardour on the one hand, and of fickleness on the
other. There are men who pester the object of their
affections with unwelcome attentions, long after the
unwelcomeness has been plainly indicated to them ;
and there are others who transfer their attentions
with startling suddenness and frequency, from one
object to another. Ordinarily, it needs a certain
length of acquaintance to inspire a man with sufficient
passion for a woman to initiate a serious courtship ;
though good looks and attractive manners are always
a stimulus to the desire of further acquaintance ; but
there is no doubt of the occurrence, in some cases,
of love at first sight ; and, in such cases, courtship
begins simultaneously with acquaintanceship. From
this it is but a step, though it is a long step, to
courtship without any acquaintance at all. There
are authentic cases in which a man has fallen in love
with a woman, and has pursued her with the intention
of courtship, upon the strength of her portrait, or
even of an epistolary correspondence ; and it is not
unknown for a man to be hopelessly attached to a
woman he has never seen, with whom he has had no
correspondence, and whom he does not recognise even
when he meets her. Such conduct transcends the

CHAP. XVIII

COURTSHIP 297

limits of the normal, and is not witnessed except in
the insane, of whose insanity it is evidence. It is
exceeded in abnormality by other cases, in which a
man is in love with a woman who has no existence
outside of his own imagination. Such a case has
fallen under my own observation.

In woman, defect, either original or acquired, of
the activities of courtship, is much less rare than in
men. As the normal activity is less, so the defect
or absence of such activity is a less departure from
the normal. There is an appreciable number of
women who never fall in love at all ; who never
exhibit any inclination towards any member of the
opposite sex ; and w^ho embrace a celibate, and even
a conventual life, as their natural and congenial
career. Much more frequent, however, are those
women who fix their affection in early life upon a
man, who either does not respond, or whom fate
separates them from, either before or soon after
marriage ; and thereupon renounce all effort, as they
are destitute of all desire, to secure another suitor.
That less facility of the transference of affection,
which is a characteristic of the woman in comparison
with the man, is in them exaggerated into im-
possibility. Thenceforward they renounce all effort
to attract the other sex. On the contrary, the
courtship of a man repels and irks them ; and to
avoid the discomfort, they may deliberately render
themselves unattractive by the assumption of some
unbecoming costume. Our foremothers in such
circumstances, who did not wish to join a religious
community, would assume a brevet rank, which

298 CONDUCT book n

conventionally rendered them as unapproachable as if
they were married ; but this custom is now out of
fashion ; and, if such women do not enter religion,
they now trust to their own demeanour to repel
possible suitors, and render courtship impracticable.

On the other hand, excess of the activities of
courtship in woman is by no means unknown. There
are plenty of flirts who cannot become acquainted
with a man without seeking to allure him into
courtship ; who measure their success in life by the
number of scalps they can hang upon their belts ; with
whom neither the tie of their own marriage, nor the
tie of friendship with the wives of their victims, nor
even the repulsion which their wiles create in those
who penetrate their object, is enough to keep from
seeking to attract the courtship of every man they
come across. Another way in which the activity of
courtship becomes excessive in woman, is when it is
prolonged, as it sometimes is, to an age at which it
would, even if successful, no longer serve the purpose
for which it exists. When women at, or beyond, the
limit of child-bearing age, dress themselves as young
girls, and exercise towards young men the allurements
that they might appropriately have exercised five-
and-twenty years before, we may fairly regard such
activity as excessive ; and the ridicule and dis-
approbation that such conduct incurs, is based upon
the discernment of its incongruity with the ultimate
end of courtship. When this mode of conduct is
continued, not only beyond the menopause, but
onward into actual senility, or when it is revived
and becomes active at the age of sixty, or seventy.

JEALOUS CONDUCT 299

then it is recognised as not merely excessive, but
excessive beyond the bounds of sanity. For an old
woman to fall in love, to ogle and leer, to lay herself
out to attract the other sex, to flirt, and to indulge
in the. playful sallies of a girl ; is felt to be no longer
ridiculous. It is now become painful, and marks an
advance from normal to morbid excess.

Another mode of excess in the courting activity
of women is exhibited, if active and evident allurement
becomes preponderant over that passive attractiveness,
which is the peculiar charm of woman. Such excess
satisfies the definition of perversion of conduct, since
it is conduct that tends to defeat the very instinct
by which it is prompted.

Jealous Conduct

Diff'erent as the role and method of man are from
those of woman in courtship, yet the aim of each is
the same as that of the other. It is the exclusive
possession of the aff'ection, of the paramount interest
and regard, and finally of the person, of the loved
object. What is desired is not merely possession,
but exclusive possession. This is the aim of court-
ship ; this is the desire that reigns paramount during
courtship, and subsequently extends itself over
married life ; and any interference with the exclusive
possession, that is attained by successful courtship,
arouses the lethal passion of jealousy, and the
conduct that is prompted by jealousy.

Jealous conduct is conduct directed towards
obtaining and preserving exclusive possession, and

300 CONDUCT

BOOK II

resenting any infringement of this privilege ; and
such conduct varies much in scope, in activity, and
in mode of expression.

By the scope of jealous conduct is meant the
objects towards which it is directed. The desire of
the lover is not merely to possess, but to obtain
exclusive possession ; and to obtain exclusive pos-
session not merely of the person, but of the affection ;
and not merely of the affection, but of the regard
and attention, of the loved object. The primary
scope of jealousy is directed to excluding from the
possession of the beloved object, all others of the
opposite sex ; and efforts directed to this end
constitute the crudest and most elementary mode of
jealous conduct ; but this is far from being the limit
of conduct prompted by jealousy. The jealous
person demands the undivided and exclusive regard
of the beloved, and is jealous not only of affection,
but of attention, bestowed upon others — is jealous
not only of attention bestowed upon other men by a
woman, and upon other women by a man, but of
attention bestowed upon persons of the same sex.
Nay, jealousy does not stop short even at this. The
jealous man is aggrieved at the affection and attention
bestowed by his wife upon their own child ; the
jealous woman is jealous, not only of her lover's
attention to other women, and of his friendships
with other men, but resents his attachment to his
dog, his gun, his book, and his favourite amusement.
There are, indeed, those who confine the direction of
their jealousy to these secondary extensions, and are
more jealous of them than of persons of the same sex.

CHAP, xviii JEALOUS CONDUCT 301

That jealousy varies in activity, or in the intensity
of the stimulus that provokes it, is a commonplace.
There are men who can look with complacency upon
the flirtations of their wives, and even regard actual
unfaithfulness with indifi"erence ; but it is rather
remarkable that such toleration is much rarer in
women. The woman who does not love her husband,
and who carries on amours of her own, may yet be
desperately jealous of the attentions of her husband
to other women. Again, there are men who cannot
endure to see their wives treat other men with even
ordinary civility. To see his wife even smile at
another man's witticisms, or appear interested in
another man's conversation, excites, in such husbands,
a fury of jealousy, and provokes an outburst of
jealous conduct.

Again, jealousy prompts, in different persons, to
difi'erent manifestations. In some it provokes sulks,
in others fury, according to the nature of the jealous
person. By some, the resentment is directed against
the spouse or the lover ; by others against the third
party or thing that is believed to have engaged the
afi'ection or attention of the spouse or lover ; and by
yet others, the revenge of jealousy is directed against
the self; so that when, as not seldom happens, the
jealousy rises to homicidal intensity, the jealous man
may murder his wife or sweetheart, or the man to
whom he thinks she is attached, or he may commit
suicide ; and so, mutatis mutandis, with the woman.
If the passion of jealousy does not reach the pitch of
homicide, it prompts, in any case, to conduct that is
antagonistic and hostile ; and the hostility and

302 CONDUCT

antagonism may be directed against either of the
three parties concerned, or against any two, or
against all of them. In the male, the primary
antagonism is directed against the rival ; but of
this we do not hear often, for there is a convention
that a quarrel about a woman is to be attributed to
some other motive. The injuring of the loved one,
and of himself, by the jealous man, are about equally
frequent ; and commonly the revenge includes both.
By the woman, the injurious effect of jealousy is
more often directed to the sacrifice of herself; but
not infrequently it leads to attempts to injure the
rival, which may range from mere depreciation of
that rival's good looks, to destroying them by the aid
of vitriol. It is much more rare in the woman than
in the man, for revenge to be taken on the loved
object.

There is a peculiar occasion of jealousy, that is
not infrequent, and that is not provoked by, or
directed against, any particular third person ; that
is aroused, not by any infringement of exclusive
possession, but merely by inability to obtain exclusive
possession of the loved object. A man loves a woman
who does not respond to his advances, or, more
commonly, who has given him some encouragement,
but finds, on better acquaintance, that he is not her
ideal, and refuses to respond any further to his
attentions. In such cases, it often happens that the
desire of exclusive possession is so strong in the man,
that the mere denial of it, without any transference
of the right to a third person, is enough to rouse him
to frantic violence. ' If I cannot have her,' he says,

oHAP.xviu JEALOUS CONDUCT 303

' no one else shall ' ; and he renders the prediction
sure by murdering the object of his choice. It is
remarkable that this particular manifestation of
jealousy is confined to the lower strata of society,
and is never displayed by men of birth and breeding.
In yet other cases, that are not very rare, the
passion for exclusive possession prompts to conduct
destructive to the lives of both lovers, even though
they are mutually attached, and neither contemplates
the unfaithfulness of the other. We frequently
witness cases of the double suicide of two lovers, to
whose union some obstacle, that appears to them
insuperable, is opposed. To speak of such acts as
the outcome of jealousy, appears inappropriate, for
we usually associate this term with the straying of
the one party from the exclusive possession of the
other ; but it is clear that exclusive possession is
interfered with and negatived, as much by pre-
vention of coming together, as by separation after
union ; and it is interference with this desire of
exclusive possession, that prompts the conduct in
these cases of double suicide, as in cases of murder
from motives of jealousy. This mode of conduct,
also, is confined to persons low in the social scale.

CHAPTER XIX

MARITAL CONDUCT

This mode of conduct need not detain us long. As
in courtship, so in marriage, the parts of the sexes
are complementary and reciprocal. It is the part of
the husband to provide sustenance for the wife ; it is
the part of the wife to apply, for the common use,
the sustenance provided by the husband. It is the
duty of both to provide mutual interest in each
other's occupations; mutual congratulations in success;
mutual consolation in misfortune ; mutual confidence
towards each other ; mutual assistance as against the
rest of the world ; mutual upholding of each other's
reputation and credit ; mutual respect of one
another's secrets ; reciprocal affection and kind
oflBces.

In these matters, defect is more frequent than
excess. The husband may fail to provide the
necessary sustenance for his wife. If his failure
proceeds from an inability which applies equally to
himself, the failure is in indirectly self-conservative,
not in marital conduct ; but if he applies his means to
his own sustenance and pleasure, and leaves his wife
in want, or insufficiently provided for, the failure is

304

MARITAL CONDUCT 305

iu the marital department of conduct ; and such
failure is far from infrequent. On the other hand,
the wife who applies the common fund of sustenance,
provided by the husband, exclusively or mainly to
her own satisfaction, is guilty of dereliction of marital
conduct. The wife who spends in dress the house-
keeping money, or pawns the furniture to obtain
drink, is as much to blame, as the husband who
spends on racing and betting, the wages that his wife
needs for her support.

A more frequent mode of marital neglect, and one
almost as fertile in producing estrangement and un-
happiness in the household, is absorption in interests
that are not shared by the spouse, and failure to
manifest interest in his or her occupations and
amusements. When husband and wife have each
their own hobbies, their particular and unshared
friendships ; when their interests are separate ; when
the wife shows no interest in the husband's success in
his business or profession, the husband no interest in
the wife's social triumphs or failures ; the purpose of
marriage is unfulfilled, and each exhibits neglect of
marital conduct. Such neglect is, unhappily, frequent
enough ; and scarcely less frequent — indeed a part of
the same mode of conduct — is failure of the manifesta-
tions of affection, and of the reciprocation of kindly
offices.

A step beyond this conduct, and a long step, is
actual depreciation and disparagement of one spouse
by the other. How far this marks defect or disorder
of conduct, depends on its mode and degree. The
wife or the husband who consults doctor or solicitor,

X

306 CONDUCT book n

in all the secrecy of professional confidence, with
respect to the laches of husband or wife, pursues a
source of conduct for which there may be a regrettable
necessity ; even to consult in confidence some
intimate friend may be allowable ; ])ut to indulge in
disparagement of husband or wife to acquaintances,
or in mixed company, is a dereliction of marital
conduct which incurs severe reprobation. Even to
listen to such disparagement is not consistent with
the maintenance of proper marital relations. More
especially is it the duty of each spouse to preserve
the respect of their children for the other.

On the other hand, marital conduct may be
excessive. The caresses and endearments which are
right, and proper, and obligatory, to the marital
relation, in private, are not to be carried on under
the observation of others. The emphasised devotion
to one another in public, of a married pair, excites
disrespect ; and thus tends to diminish that con-
sideration of each in the eyes of onlookers, that it is
the object of the other to increase.

Parental and Filial Conduct

Parental conduct is the nourishing, cherishing,
protection, and up-bringing of children, and in this
the mother is the most immediately concerned : the
father acts mainly through the intermediation of the
mother.

The desire for motherhood is experienced, and
finds expression in motherly conduct, long before
maternity becomes actual, and often enough when

PARENTAL CONDUCT 307

maternity is altogether denied. It is, perhaps, not
justifiable to regard the playing of little girls with
dolls as wholly due to the instinct of motherhood.
Much may be put down to imitation, and the desire
to emulate the conduct of the adult; and in this
respect, playing with dolls is prompted by the same
instinct as playing at keeping shops, at horses, and
so forth ; but a part of the pleasure which little girls
find in playing with dolls may no doubt be put
down to a precocious display of the instinct of
motherhood. Women' to whom maternity is denied,
find satisfaction for their maternal instinct, sometimes
in the adoption of the offspring of others, sometimes
in mothering a nephew, or other young relative, or
even a stranger ; and if these outlets are denied to
them, will lavish a quasi-maternal afi"ection on a lap-
dog, a cat, or even a parrot, or a canary-bird. To
every normally constituted woman, weakness and
helplessness appeal with irresistible urgency for
protection and cherishing ; and do not evoke the
contempt that is apt to be mingled with masculine
pity.

Powerful as the instinct of motherhood is in the
normal woman, there are women in whom it is
defective; who neglect, and even ill-treat, their
children, and the children of others who may be
entrusted to their care ; and one of the most regular
manifestations of the insanity that attacks some
women about the time of child-birth, is the reversal
of the instinct of motherhood, and the craving to
destroy that life that they have just brought into
existence. This very curious mode of conduct

308 CONDUCT book n

remains up to the present unaccountable ; but that
it is founded deep in character, and is in some way
connected with the instinct of motherhood, is shown
by two very striking facts. In the first place, it is
never exhibited by the male ; and in the second, it is
shared with the human mothers by the females of
many of the lower animals. Parturient dogs, rabbits,
pigs, and other animals will, under certain circum-
stances, destroy their new-born offspring ; and even
the sheep will, as I have witnessed, butt and drive
away a weakly lamb, refuse it its natural sustenance,
and leave it to starve. If this horrible attitude were
adopted towards those offspring only that were weak,
and had little chance of attaining maturity, it would
be biologically explicable ; but it is not so limited.
The rabbit, the pig, and the dog destroy the whole
of the litter, with impartial brutality ; and the human
mother, in the insanity of the puerperium, destroys
her child, however robust and promising that child
may be. This remarkable reversal of the maternal
instinct bears something the same relation to the
normal, as Sadism bears to the crude sexual instinct.
The line that divides excess of maternal instinct
from the normal, is a fine one. Mothers who devote
themselves to their children with such solicitude as
to impair their own health, display a degree of
maternal conduct that is excessive from the point of
view of the individual ; but in the scheme of nature,
it is the part of the parent to submit to sacrifice, and
to welcome sacrifice, for the sake of the offspring, if
such self-sacrifice conduces to the survival, or even
to the welfare of the child. But such a degree of self-

CHAl'. XIX

PARENTAL CONDUCT 309

sacrifice on the part of the mother, as imperils the
welfare of the child, by disenabling the mother from
ofivino; the child the nurture and care that it needs,
must be regarded as excessive. Such self-sacrifice is
sometimes seen, in the exhaustion and impairment of
health produced by nursing a sick child.

A mode of maternal conduct that may be regarded
as excessive, is seen in the spoiling of children by
over-indulgent mothers. The function of maternity
is to cherish, protect, and nourish the child, until it
is fit to take its own part in the struggle for life.
The common function of both parents is to prepare
the offspring for this struggle, by education and
direction of faculty. The two functions are to some
extent incongruous, and even antagonistic. That
the child may survive, its weakness must be supple-
mented by the strength of the parent ; it must have
much done for it that it is unable to do for itself;
but if too much is done for it, it will never acquire
the power of doing things for itself. That its faculties
may develop, they must have scope for exercise ;
but this exercise must be within the limits fixed by
the membership of a community, which is inconsistent,
as we have seen, with complete freedom. The proper
upbringing of a child demands, therefore, a combina-
tion of modes of action that are to some extent
incongruous. While many things must be done for
it, it must be encouraged and stimulated to do things
for itself; and while some freedom of action must be
allowed to it, this freedom must be checked and
circumscribed by the common necessity of not
interfering with the legitimate liberty of action of

310 CONDUCT

others. The over-indulgent parent spoils the child
in both respects. The parent does for the child
much that the child is capable of doing for itself,
and thus the child's faculties remain, in these
directions, undeveloped ; and the child is allowed
freedom to encroach on the liberty of others, is
encouraged in selfish and self-indulgent conduct,
which unfits it for its position in its community.
Hence spoilt children are, when they grow up, on
the one hand incapable, since they are unaccustomed
to the exercise of capacity ; and on the other un-
popular, from their selfishness and want of considera-
tion for others.

Excess in the other direction becomes from time
fco time preponderant. Too much in the way of self-
help is required of the child ; too little freedom of
action is allowed to it. When the little Duke of
Gloucester, the only child of Queen Anne who
survived infancy, had a difiiculty in carrying his
enormous hydrocephalic head upstairs, he was caned
by his father until the stairs were surmounted ; and
the instance is an extreme one, of a practice that has
always prevailed, when the mode of conduct that
we call Puritan has prevailed. Together with this
compulsion of children to take upon them prematurely
the burden of self-help, there goes, consistently,
excessive prohibition of the exercise of faculty ; so
that, not only is that exercise forbidden that interferes
with the legitimate freedom of others, but, by anticipa-
tion of motive, exercise of faculty is forbidden for its
own sake ; and children are checked and limited in
every direction by a comprehensive system of ' Don'ts '

oHAP.xix FILIAL CONDUCT 311

and ' You mustu'ts ' applied to every mode of
spontaneous activity. Since spontaneous activity is
inherently pleasant, these prohibitions are easily
extended to whatever activity is pleasant ; and it
comes about under this regime, that children are
urged and compelled to do what is distasteful,
because it is distasteful to them ; and are prohibited
from doing what is pleasant, because it is pleasant.

The ill-consequences of this mode of training are
less grave than those of the opposite mode. Children
brought up under a Puritan regime, become, when
adult, eminently capable. The ill-consequence of
the training is shown chiefly in the reaction that is
prone to follow when the stern hand of authority is
removed. Then the long repressed craving for
pleasurable activity is apt to break out in excessive
manifestation ; and the riotous excesses of the
adolescent who is suddenly freed from over-rigorous
discipline, are sufficiently notorious.

Filial conduct is the reciprocal of parental. As
the part of the mother is to protect, nourish, and
cherish the child ; so the part of the child is to be
protected, nourished, and cherished by the mother ;
and the corresponding conduct is purely passive,
except in as far it requires a following and clinging to
the mother on the part of the child. The reciprocal
conduct of the child towards the father, whose
conduct towards the child is rather directive than
merely cherishing, is obedience ; for without obedience
on the part of the child, the tuition of the father
would be of no effect.

312 CONDUCT

Filial conduct, in respect of following the parent,
and leaving to the parent the initiative in action, is
often defective. Children are apt to be what is
called wilful ; that is, to strike out modes of activity
for themselves, without waiting for parental initiative.
For satisfaction of curiosity, they play with fire and
water, with razors and sharp tools ; they meddle ;
they get into mischief; they wander, and get lost.
It is often defective, too, in respect of obedience.
That which is enjoined is not performed ; and that is
done which is forbidden. Correct conduct in these
respects, is, however, relative to the age and develop-
ment of the child ; and the nice adaptation of
mutual conduct, so that the child is allowed initiative
as far as its safety permits, and is freed from the
obligation of obedience as its own power of self-
restraint develops, is often a matter of difiiculty.
The usual tendency of the child is to arrogate to
itself a premature initiative, and freedom from the
bonds of obedience ; and for the parent to perpetuate
the dependence of the child beyond what is necessary
or useful ; but the reverse errors are not very
infrequent. The parent carelessly allows the child
to go its own way ; the child fails to assume a proper
initiative, and remains in tutelage after the age of
tutelage is past. Some parents there are, who never
recognise the obligation of parenthood to guide and
direct their children ; some children who remain
children in adult age, and never dare assume the
responsibility of deciding an important matter for
themselves.

As age advances, the respective parts of parent

CHAP. XIX

FILIAL CONDUCT 313

and child are first modified, and at length reversed.
Command on the part of the parent is softened into
exhortation ; and exhortation is modified into advice.
Prohibition is replaced by warning, and warning by
friendly caution. Then, after a period of discussion
of modes of conduct on a basis of equality, comes a
time when the aged parent needs protection, cherish-
ing and nurture from the middle-aged child ; and
the child looks for some surrender of initiative, some
deference to his or her wishes, on the part of the
parent. This is the course of nature ; but experience
shows that it is often interfered with. There are
parents who maintain, even to extreme old age, a
tyrannical control over their children ; there are
children who repudiate their obligations towards
their aged parents, and would leave them destitute,
in the absence of legal compulsion for their support.
On the other hand, there are pious children, who
devote, to the cherishing and support of a parent,
years and energies that might well have been
expended in the production and rearing of ofi'spring
of their own ; and such conduct must be regarded,
from the point of view of strict biology, as excessively
filial.

CHAPTER XX

INDIRECTLY VITAL CONDUCT

Under this head are included those^modes of conduct
whose biologic importance is indirect. Some biologic
importance, some influence on the life- worthiness of
the individual, the community, or the stirp, it would
seem they must have ; or it would be difficult to ac-
count, on biologic grounds, for their existence; but
whatever influence they have on conservation, is
indirect ; and it is from no avowed or recognised
biologic motive that they are entered on. We shall
find, in the course of our inquiry, that some of them
have, in fact, great biologic importance, and are
powerful factors in the preservation and survival of
either the individual or the community ; and so,
indirectly, of the stirp ; but their influence on this
end is indirect. They are not undertaken from the
motive of either self-conservation, or social or race
conservation. Their pursuit depends on motives
supplied ad hoc ; and whatever advantage they
convey towards survival, is indirect, a quasi-incidental
consequence of their pursuit ; unknown to, and unre-
cognised by, the actor ; and would, in some cases,
be heartily and honestly repudiated by him. The

314

CH. XX INDIRECTLY VITAL CONDUCT 315

scientific investigator would repudiate with scorn
the suggestion that he is actuated by any motive of
utility. Indeed, he has been know^n to propose the
toast, ' Here's to the latest scientific discovery, and
may it never be of any use to any one ' ; and though
he knows from innumerable instances, that the most
recondite scientific investigation is apt to bear un-
expected fruit in utilitarian application, this applica-
tion is incidental only. It was from no utilitarian
motive that the investigation was pursued ; and the
investigator himself often looks with indifference on
the utilitarian application of his discovery. Never-
theless, were it not for the proved utility of investiga-
tion, not the investigation only, but the investigator,
would never have come into existence, as will pres-
ently be shown. It is the indirect vital consequence
of investigation, that alone renders possible the
practice of investigation, and the existence of in-
vestigators. The religious devotee would regard
with abhorrence the suggestion that, in his devotion
to his religion, the motive of utility has any place.
Nor has it any place in his intention or knowledge ;
but nevertheless, the inculcations of religion have a
social utility, which is none the less powerful for
being indirect ; and but for this utihty, it would
be impossible to account, on biologic grounds, for
the existence, in every community that is exposed
to competition, of some religious belief, however
grotesque ; some religious observance, however bar-
barous, and prima facie anti-social.

The indirectly vital modes of conduct are of four
chief kinds — Recreative, Aesthetic, Investigative,

316 CONDUCT

BOOK 11

and Religious. The four modes have manifest kin-
ships, and two or more are often satisfied by the
same act. Investigation is one mode of recreation ;
the contemplation of beautiful things is another.
The beauty of a thing often leads to its investiga-
tion ; and religion at once satisfies our curiosity as to
the origin and destination of men and things, and
calls to its aid all the means we have of appealing to
aesthetic appreciation. In attending a religious cere-
monial, we gratify at once the instinct of religion or
devotion, the need of exercising faculty, the apprecia-
tion of beauty, and the dramatic sentiment.

Recreative Conduct

Recreative conduct consists of acts that are under-
taken for the satisfaction of the mere exercise of
faculty, and not primarily for the achievement of an
end. Doubtless, in almost every recreative activity
there is an end in view. Even in trundling a hoop,
there is the end of keeping the hoop upright ; and
even in playing patience with cards, or solitaire,
there is a certain aim to be achieved in getting the
cards into a certain sequence, or clearing the marbles
off the board ; but these are not the primary aims of
these recreations. The aim, even when achieved, is
worthless. It serves no subsequent end. It con-
tributes nothing to the sum of life. No one would
undertake the exertion for the attainment of this end
alone. If we wanted to arrange the cards in that
particular order, it would be much easier to arrange
them deliberately to that end, without observing the

CHAP. XX RECREATIVE CONDUCT 317

rules of the game. If we wanted to get the marbles
off the board, we could do so by turning it upside
down, without going through the elaborate ceremonial
of the game. The games are undertaken, not
primarily for the purpose of achieving their ostensible
ends, but for the purpose of exercising the faculties
used in attaining these ends. The achievement of
the end answers no purpose, and gives no pleasure.
It does not in the least matter in what order the
cards are arranged, or whether the marbles are on or
off the board, or whether the hoop is upright or
horizontal. What does matter, and what the game
is undertaken for, is not to get these things done,
but to do them in a particular way, in a way fenced
about with restrictions which make the doing difficult,
and compel the exercise of a certain skill ; and it is
in the exercise of this skill that the pleasure consists,
and that the purpose of the game exists. Whatever
satisfaction is felt at the successful issue of the game,
is derived, not from the end achieved — the arrange-
ment that has been made of the cards, or what not —
but in the fact that faculty has been successfully
exercised — that evidence has been obtained of the
possession of skill.

Early in this book, a distinction was drawn be-
tween play and work ; and it may be expected that the
distinction between recreative, and what maybe termed
remunerative, activity, should correspond therewith ;
but it will be seen that it does not. Play was
defined as that which is agreeable and congenial to
do : work as that which is irksome ; and it matters
not to this distinction whether the play or the work

318 CONDUCT

is or is not biologically remunerative. Work is
usually so remunerative, or is intended and hoped to
be remunerative, it is true ; for were it not, there
would be little motive for undertaking an occupation
that is uncongenial ; and play is usually biologically
unremunerative, but by no means necessarily so ; for
it may be that the occupation which serves the
conservation, direct or indirect, of the individual, or
of the community, or of the race, may be congenial
and pleasurable. But occupation undertaken for
these ends, though it may be play, is not recreation
in the sense in which that term is used here, for it is
directly biologically remunerative. It is undertaken,
not merely for the sake of pleasurably exercising
faculty, but for the sake of an end that is biologically
important. Just as there may be play which is
biologically remunerative, and is therefore not re-
creation ; as, for instance, when a man earns his
living by an occupation that is thoroughly congenial
and delightful to him ; so there may be work which
is recreative in character, as when a man undertakes
the distasteful task of preparing his fishing tackle, or
filling his cartridges, in preparation for the biologi-
cally unremunerative occupation of fly-fishing or
partridge shooting on the morrow. Work and play,
as here used, are, therefore, not necessarily equivalent
with remunerative and recreative activity respec-
tively, but have special meanings, which seem to be
justifiable.

Recreative conduct, therefore, is conduct under-
taken for the mere pleasure of exercising faculty, and
without regard to any biologically useful end to be

CHAP. XX RECREATIVE CONDUCT 319

served thereby ; and, thus understood, recreation is
commonly divided into intellectual and physical,
according as the faculties exercised are, predominantly,
the rearrangement of ideas, or muscular co-ordinations.
I say predominantly, for the pure exercise of either,
without any intermixture of the other, is rare. Even
in playing chess, which is sometimes taken as the
type of intellectual recreation, the pieces have to be
moved by co-ordinated muscular action ; even in
composing verses, at least incipient movements of
articulation must accompany the process. Similarly,
all muscular exercise, even that of rowing, which is,
perhaps, the most automatic, is dependent for rate,
extent, and other components, on mental guidance.
Nevertheless, there is a certain real distinction to be
made between the recreation that is preponderantly
mental, and employs muscular co-ordination as a
mere subsidiary ; and recreation that is preponder-
antly muscular, and needs mental exertion merely
for guidance.

If, however, recreative activity is forbidden, by
its very nature, from undertaking tasks that shall be
biologically remunerative, what sphere of action is
open to it ? what regions can it occupy ? The
regions are two. One mode of recreative conduct
consists in pursuing modes of action that once had a
biological importance, but have ceased to be im-
portant, and these are comprehensively termed sports ;
the other in surmounting difficulties artificially
created for the mere purpose of surmounting them,
and these satisfy the definition of games. In either
case, the interest of emulation may be added, and

320 CONDUCT

usually is added ; and we seek in recreation to outdo
our fellows, and so gain their applause, as an
additional gratification.

One moiety of recreative activity consists in the
pursuit of archaic or obsolete occupations — in the
return to a more primitive state of affairs. A large
number of the recreations of civilised men are founded
on the chase, which was a vital occupation in a less
civilised state of society. A favourite recreation of
children is in climbing trees, which was a vital
exercise to their simian ancestors. Coaching, the
serious business of a former generation, is the recrea-
tion of the present. Camping-out and picnicking
are returns to an obsolete mode of existence. In the
adult, recreative activity is employed to expend the
residue of energy that remains over after the vital
needs are satisfied. The vital needs of children, and
of young vertebrates generally, are satisfied wholly
or mainly by the exertions of their parents ; and the
greater portion of the abounding energies of the
young is available for recreation, and is expended in
recreation. With children, as with adults, a moiety
of recreation consists in surmounting difliculties
artificially created for the purpose of exercising
faculty in surmounting them. The remaining moiety,
which in adults consists in reviving archaic occupa-
tions, is, in children, for the most part imitation of
the occupations of adults ; and this is the principle
underlying the childish recreations of keeping shop,
nursing dolls, playing horses, making pastry, and so
forth. As the vital activities of the lower animals
consist chiefiy in pursuit, in evading pursuit, and in

CHAP. XX RECREATIVE CONDUCT 321

conflict ; so we see the recreative activity of puppies
expended in chasing one another, and in friendly
contests, in which they growl and spring at one
another, biting each other's limbs and ears, with
tender precaution against actually hurting ; so we
see the recreative activity of the kitten expend itself
in springing on the pretended prey that is represented
by a dead leaf or a reel of cotton ; so we see kids
butt at one another, with precautions against mutual
injury.

The moiety of recreative occupation which consists
in the surmounting of artificial and conventional
difficulties, created or imagined for the mere purpose
of exercising faculty in overcoming them, includes all
games, properly so called ; and in most games, the
interest is enhanced by the introduction of emulation ;
which is in part inspired by the instinct of combat,
but in greater degree by that desire for admiration,
and applause which we have seen to be such a
powerful motive in human conduct. The natural
and inherent interest of overcoming difficulties, is
enhanced by the interest of overcoming an antagonist.

Many recreations are of mixed character, and
consist in following an archaic occupation fenced
about with conventional restrictions. Foxes are
hunted, not for the sake of killing them, but for the
sake of overcoming the difficulties of killing them
according to rule. The mere killing could be done
more cheaply and expeditiously by shooting. Trout
can be caught much more easily and certainly by
the net or the worm than with the fly ; but, to
render the occupation more recreative, it is made

Y

322 CONDUCT

BOOK II

artificially difficult, so that skill may be exerted, and
faculty exercised.

Recreation is the natural mode of activity of the
young, and, up to a certain age, is the sole mode of
activity. To the young, it is of great importance ;
for the exercise of faculty, in which recreation
consists, is the most effectual means of educating
and improving faculty ; and the more various the
modes of recreation, the more widely is faculty
developed in more numerous directions. Hence it is
important that the young should have opportunity
for recreation of very various kinds. In this respect,
their recreations are very frequently defective. The
children of the poor, especially in the slums of cities,
are debarred by the circumstances of their lives from
all but a very few modes of recreation. They have
no toys ; they have no open spaces wherein to
scamper at freedom ; they have no trees to climb ; no
streams to wade in ; no mysteries of forest, glade, and
copse to investigate ; no opportunity of acquainting
themselves with the wonders of animal and vegetable
life and growth. The children of the well-to-do,
though they are less restricted, are still restricted
unnecessarily. While at school, they are compelled
to take part in certain conventional recreations,
which, to many of the children are, though recreations,
not play, but work ; since they are followed, not
spontaneously because they are congenial, but from
compulsion, being uncongenial. For these reasons,
recreation is often deficient in the lives of the young.
In the adult, recreation may be wanting, on account
of the absorbing claims of remunerative employment.

CHAP. XX

RECREATIVE CONDUCT 323

It may be, and often is, that the service that a person
can render to the community, is of so little value,
that its poverty in quality must be compensated by
quantity ; and in order to gain a livelihood, so much
energy must be expended on vital activity, that none
is left over for recreation. Again, there are people in
whom recreation is deficient from want of knowledge,
imagination, and practice. Until late in life, their
energies have been wholly absorbed in the business
of earning a livelihood ; and, when this is at length
secure, they have lost the capacity of recreation :
they have neither interest nor capability for any
except vital occupations, and any attempt at recrea-
tion results in mere boredom.

In children, recreation can scarcely be excessive,
for all recreation conduces to enhancement of faculty,
and much of the school-time of children is occupied
by action that may be regarded as directed recreation.
It is action that, if not undertaken, is at any rate
imposed, for the mere purpose of exercising faculty,
and not for the direct biologic profit to be obtained
from it. It may be regarded as a straining of the
ordinary meaning of words, to speak of the school
tasks of children as recreative, but this sense of
incongruity is due to the failure to distinguish
between recreation and play. Many school tasks
are recreative, since they have no direct biological
profit ; but they may or may not be play, according
as they are or are not congenial to the scholar.

Whether the devotion of an adult to recreation is
excessive or not, depends on the demands of his vital
necessities. If he is provided with these by the

324 CONDUCT

BOOK II

exertions of his predecessors, or by his own previous
exertion, there is no reason why his whole time
should not be given to recreative occupation ; but if
he is dependent on his own exertions for his own
livelihood and that of his family, and if he diverts
his energies from this object to recreation, so that
his livelihood is defective, then recreation is clearly
excessive.

The origin of recreative conduct is not far to seek.
It is the mode of expending that energy that is left
unexpended when the vital needs are satisfied. When
physical safety is assured ; when the livelihood is
gained, and the means are administered ; when the
duty towards the community is done, and the marital
and parental functions performed ; the energies may
still be unexhausted. A residue of motion may still
remain in the nervous system, unexpended, and
demanding expenditure. This residue is available
for expenditure in recreation. Moreover, in children,
and those whose means of livelihood are capitalised,
the drain on the energies, necessitated by vital needs,
is small ; and the residue left for expenditure is
not only available for recreation, but imperatively
demands expenditure ; and such expenditure, even if
it take the form of application to business, and so
increasing the store of wealth, is really recreative.
It is undertaken, not at the imperious demand of
supplying vital needs, but because it is a congenial
mode of employing faculty.

Though recreation is not directly profitable in a
biological sense, yet indirectly it is of great utility.
It is in recreative activity that the young animal

CHAP. XX AESTHETIC CONDUCT 325

learns to co-ordinate its movements, learns precision
of action, acquires skill, obtains the necessary exercise
of faculty that contributes to the growth of muscle,
bone, nervous organisation, and general bodily
efficiency ; and it is in recreative activity, which
always takes a form widely different from that of
the compulsory activity of earning the livelihood,
that the adult broadens his mind, increases his
capabilities, and preserves his health of both body
and mind.

Aesthetic Conduct

From the point of view of pure biology — of the
preservation of the stirp — the appreciation of beauty,
and the considerable department of conduct that is
based upon, and prompted by, the appreciation of
beauty, are not easily explicable, Grace of motion,
indeed, means ease of motion. It implies complete
and efficient mastery over the movements, so that the
maximum of effect is produced with the minimum of
effort ; and it is clear that this is biologically
advantageous. Caeteris paribus, graceful movement
is economical movement. Form, again, is potential
movement. We recognise form by ocular movements,
and the application of the term ' graceful,' to form as
well as to movement, rests upon an inarticulate, un-
expressed recognition, that the appreciation of both
is at bottom the same. The researches of Helmholtz
into the nature of harmony, lead to the conclusion
that those sounds are to us the most beautiful, in
which the ratio of stimulation, to fatigue or dis-

326 CONDUCT book h

integration of tissue, is maximal ; and we may safely
transfer this conclusion from sound to colour, and
to other qualities. Beauty, therefore, in whatever
form, means economy ; and the fact that beauty is
not pursued for the sake of economy, does not detract
in the least from its economical advantage ; any more
than the fact that cleanliness is pursued for its own
sake, and from dislike of dirt, detracts from its
hygienic advantage. It must be admitted, however,
that the economic advantage of beauty is not of
sufficient magnitude to account for the appreciation
of beauty, or for the enthusiasm that it inspires, and
the eagerness with which it is pursued. The waste
of effort in clumsy and awkward movements is rarely
great enough to be material ; and the waste in
contemplating ugly prospects, colours that swear at
one another, or harsh and displeasing sounds, can
scarcely ever be sufficient to determine the survival
or non-survival of the contemplator. It must be
acknowledged that the origin of aesthetic conduct is
not to be found in biological advantage, and hence
its proper inclusion among recreative activities.

It has been shown that all forms of vital conduct
owe their existence ultimately to the instinctive
craving for the preservation of the stirp ; and it
would be strange if the invocation of a second motive
were needed to account for other conduct, even
though this other conduct has, prima facie, no direct
biological significance. Aesthetic conduct is no excep-
tion to the rule that all conduct is ultimately based
upon the motive of reproduction of the race. The
earliest glimmerings of aesthetic conduct in the

CHAP. XX AESTHETIC CONDUCT 327

human race, are exhibited in personal adornment for
the attraction of the opposite sex ; and whatever
aesthetic conduct is exhibited in the lower animals,
whether in the decoration of their haunts by the
bowei-birds ; in the display of their adornments by
birds of beautiful plumage ; in the exhibition of
brilliant colours, or graceful movements or attitudes,
by o:her animals ; are all limited to the period of
courtship, if they are not also confined to the actual
pursait of courtship. Aesthetic conduct owes its
orio'in, in fact, to the motive of sexual attraction ;
and is the earliest, as it is the most efficient, means
of purging the approaches of courtship of their
grosser elements and signification, and elevating the
whole process to a higher plane. Once the value of
beauty, and the love of beauty, as aids to the funda-
mental function of courtship, are established ; in
process of time beauty becomes, by anticipation of
motive, an end to be pursued for its own sake.

Whatever its origin, the appreciation of beauty,
like other secondary functions of life, varies within
much wider limits than the primary functions. Few
indeed are the men in whom proneness to fall in
love, and to court, are not strongly developed ; few
indeed the women who lack the instinct of mother-
hood ; but people are frequent enough in whom the
instinct of sacrificing self to the common welfare is
deficient ; and frequent enough are those whose sense
of beauty, in some or all respects, is crude, is defective,
or is altogether wanting.

Aesthetic conduct has two distinct aspects — the
passive and the active. The one consists in the

328 CONDUCT book n

contemplation, the other in the creation, of beautiful
things for the sake of their beauty ; and of these we
find that the second cannot exist apart from the first,
but the first can, and very often does, exist apart
from the second. In some kinds of art, as music,
poetry, and the drama, there is a third aspect — the
utterance of beautiful things created previously, and
it may be, by some one other than the utterer. This
is a special ability, that cannot exist in the absence
of the appreciation of beauty, but may well go with-
out the ability to create, which is much rarer.

If beauty consists, as is here contended, in the
maximal ratio of stimulation to fatigue, then beauty
will vary to difierent persons, according to the
sensitiveness to stimulation, and to the proneness of
tissue to waste when stimulated. Where sensitive-
ness to stimulation is obtuse, there beauty will not
be perceived unless stimulation is violent ; and to
such people beauty of colour consists in crude, vivid,
and primary colours — scarlet, crimson, blue, purple,
orange, yellow, and so forth ; and the contrasts must
be violent, or the stimulation will be insufficient.
Browns, greys, drabs, bufts, and secondary shades,
produce, it is true, but little waste of tissue in their
reception ; but they are so little stimulating that
they fail to arouse a feeling of beauty in those who
are not easily stimulated. To such people sounds
will be beautiful that are loud and harsh, and thus
are strongly stimulating : forms are beautiful that
have strongly marked features — sharp contrasts —
that exhibit exaggerated projections and cavities —
and so forth. On the other hand, those who are

CHAP. XX

AESTHETIC CONDUCT 329

sensitive to stimulation, who are easily stimulated by
slight impressions, will, as a rule, be those in whom
strong stimulation is disintegrative. The two
qualities almost of necessity go together ; and in
such persons a high ratio of stimulation to the dis-
integration of tissue that stimulation produces, must
be gained in other ways. To persons so constituted,
violent stimulation produces an excess of disintegra-
tion ; and the ratio of stimulation to disintegration
being then low, violent stimulation does not produce
the satisfaction of beauty, but the reverse. To them,
crude and vivid colours are not beautiful except in
small areas ; glaring colours in a picture, or in dress,
must not predominate ; but must be limited to small
patches here and there. Loud and harsh sounds in
music must be infrequent. But, since large areas of
inconspicuous colours, long continuance of gentle
sounds, flatness of surface, and monotony in any
respect, are always fatiguing, fatigue must be mini-
mised, and stimulation maximised, by variety in
the gentler modes of stimulation. To such natures,
beauty consists in variety of shades of inconspicuous
colours ; in variety of tone and loudness of har-
monious sounds ; in gentle transitions of form —
in curves rather than in angles, in balance and pro-
portion rather than in exaggeration and emphasis.

There is, therefore, no universal standard of beauty
in anything. All beauty is relative to the perceiver.
That which is beautiful to the robust nature, which
is stimulated and fatigued with difficulty, is ugly to
the more refined nature, that is easily stimulated,
and therefore discriminates between small differences

330 CONDUCT

BOOK II

of stimulation ; and is readily fatigued, and there-
fore intolerant of gross and crude stimulation ; while
that which is beautiful to the latter nature, is
merely insipid to the former. Those who say that
they are no judges of pictures, for instance, or of
music, but that they know what they like, incur
the contempt of persons endowed by nature with
greater powers of discrimination ; but for all that,
express in homely terms the truth, that beauty is not
absolute, but relative to the perceiver. At the same
time, the ability to discriminate small differences,
and thus to obtain increased stimulation from an
impression that at first seems uniform ; and the
ability to unify diverse impressions, and discover an
underlying and fundamental unity, and thus diminish
the fatigue that disconnected impressions produce ;
are capable of increase by training and practice ; and
thus the standard of beauty may undergo change ;
but in changing, it still remains relative to individual
capacity.

The appreciation of beauty varies in different
persons, not only relatively, with respect to the
things that are regarded as beautiful, but absolutely,
with respect to the gratification obtained from the
contemplation of things that, to the individual, are
beautiful. In other words, the capacity of appreciat-
ing the ratio of stimulation to fatigue, varies very
widely, both generally, and in respect of special
modes of stimulation. There are natures so obtuse
to stimulation, and so insensitive to fatigue, of the
special senses, or of some of them, that all apprecia-
tion of beauty, either generally, or in some special

AESTHETIC CONDUCT 331

respect, is in them absent and unattainable. The
most gorgeous sunset is devoid of beauty, not only
to the blind, but to the colour-blind. The most
expressive music is devoid of beauty, not only to the
deaf, but to the tone-deaf; and it is curious how
limited the defect of a special sense may be.
Macaulay, who had a keen appreciation of rhythm
in words, of the balance of a verbal sentence, and of
tone in verbal utterance, was utterly insensitive to
musical tone, and could never distinguish one musical
air from another. Even when there is no defect of
special sense, there may be such obtuseness, such
inappreciation of the ratio of stimulation to fatigue
generally, that the appreciation of beauty is absent.
To such people, nothing is beautiful. To them beauty
does not exist ; and that large region of pleasure
is denied to them. Persons thus constituted have
usually compensation, in the extra degree of skill they
possess in extracting benefit from circumstances.
They are usually successful men and women of
business. It seems as if the want of interest in
beauty, set free their faculties for greater concentra-
tion on the business of extracting benefit from
circumstances ; and in some way contributed to their
skill in this direction.

A high development of interest in beauty, and
especially in the active form of aesthetic conduct,
which shows itself in the creation of beautiful things,
and the interpretation of beautiful things created by
others, is apt to go with sundry undesirable qualities
— with an inability to extract benefit from circum-
stances, with self-indulgence, self conceit, untruthful-

332 CONDUCT

ness and selfishness. That these undesirable qualities
are not necessarily associated with the appreciation of
beauty, and the capability of creating and interpreting
beautiful things, is shown by many instances, in
which the two sets of qualities are severed ; but that
they are associated with a frequency that invites
explanation, is shown no less by the history of many
distinguished artists, than by the common experience
of mankind.

CHAPTER XXI

INVESTIGATION

An important set of indirectly vital activities is
prompted by the instinct of Curiosity, and takes the
form of investigation. This mode of conduct is not
wholly free from biological significance ; on the
contrary, it has a very high biological importance,
inasmuch as it conduces more to progress, that is, to
extension in the range and accuracy of adjustments
to circumstances, than any other factor whatever.
Curiosity prompts to investigation ; investigation
leads to knowledge ; knowledge of circumstances is
a necessary precedent to adjustment to circumstances,
and to taking advantage of them. AVhatever
investig^ation into circumstances is conducted with
the direct aim of taking advantage of these circum-
stances, to advance the life -worthiness of the
individual, the community, or the race, is a directly
vital activity, and does not properly fall to be
considered here; but it would be inconvenient to
separate the consideration of investigation into two
parts, and as it is in the main an indirectly vital
activity, it may properly be examined with the non-
vital modes of conduct.

333

334 CONDUCT book h

Curiosity, the desire to know, the motive of
investigation, is a very primitive instinct ; and is
shared with man by many of the lower animals, and
even by some of a low grade of organisation.
Curiosity is excited by the appearance of incon-
gruity, or, what is, for the present purpose, much
the same thing, the unfamiliar. As the young being
gradually acquires consciousness, it finds itself in
certain surroundings, in which it acquiesces, and
with which it becomes familiarised. As long as
these familiar surroundings remain unchanged, the
attitude of acquiescence continues, and curiosity does
not arise ; but the importation of novelty into the
surroundings, either by the intrusion of some new
feature into them, or by change of place on the part
of the observer, at once excites curiosity, which in
its turn prompts investigation.

While unfamiliarity is the earliest excitant of
curiosity, that which is unfamiliar excites curiosity,
not because it is unfamiliar, but because, and as far
as, it is incongruous with what is familiar. Eemoval
from familiar surroundings, into surroundings that,
though unfamiliar, are similar to those that are
familiar, excites no curiosity. Intrusion of a new
element into familiar surroundings excites no or little
curiosity, if the new element is like the familiar
elements. On the other hand, in surroundings that
are thoroughly familiar, curiosity may be aroused,
if incongruity is recognised. The observers who
founded the science of astronomy, by investigating
the relations of the celestial bodies, were not un-
familiar with these bodies. They had been familiar

CHAP. XXI INVESTIGATION 335

with the sun, moon, stars, and planets, from child-
hood. AVhat excited them to investigation was not
any unfamiliarity, but the utter incongruity of the
celestial bodies with terrestrial phenomena. Here
were things that were incongruous with all the rest
of familiar things — incongruous in their separateness
and inaccessibility ; incongruous in their regular and
gradual movements ; incongruous in their luminosity.
It was these incongruities that excited curiosity, and
led to investigation.

No doubt investigation, like all other modes of
action, has, in its origin, a biological significance.
Every living being is adapted to live in certain
surroundings ; and so long as those surroundings, to
which it is adapted, remain unchanged, it is in safety,
or in comparative safety ; but the importation into
its surroundings of an unfamiliar element, is a
potential danger ; and it is of vital consequence to
the animal to know whether this potential danger
is a real danger ; and, if so, what is the nature of
the danger. If the animal passively awaits the
manifestation of the danger, it is not in as advan-
tageous a position to combat or elude the danger,
as if it were forewarned of its nature, and mode and
time of incidence. These factors can only be dis-
covered by investigation ; and thus we see that the
hatred of change, and the passion of curiosity, have,
at bottom, the same origin — the appreciation of the
danger that lurks in what is unfamiliar. Conserva-
tism says, ' The unfamiliar is potentially dangerous,
therefore let us destroy it.' Curiosity says, 'The
unfamiliar is potentially dangerous and potentially

336 CONDUCT

profitable ; therefore let us investigate it to discover
which potentiality is actual.' The attitude of con-
servatism is unquestionably the safer. If what is
unfamiliar is incontinently destroyed, its potential
dangers are annihilated ; and, as far as they are
concerned, safety is ensured. The attitude of
curiosity is the more risky, but it is also more
enterprising. It contains greater possibilities of
danger ; but greater possibilities of benefit also.
The investigator thrusts his hand into the jaws of
danger, and whether his hand will be bitten off, or
whether he will be able to withdraw it full of riches,
he cannot know until the experiment has been made.
Thus the conservative is safe, but unprogressive ;
the path of investigation is strewn with the bones of
rash investigators. The investigator is obnoxious to
a double danger. Not only is his investigation in
itself dangerous, in proportion to the strangeness of
the matter that he is investigating, as exemplified
in innumerable instances, from the death of the
moth that investigates the flame, to the death of the
X-ray operator from cancer ; but the investigator is
in danger, also, from the animosity of his conservative
fellow, whose self-preservative instinct is outraged
by the toleration that the investigator displays
towards the unfamiliar.

It is clear, however, that every successful investiga-
tion, fatal though it may be to the investigator, is
advantageous to the community which has knowledge
of the result of the investigation. The community
will have learnt, at least, that the matter investigated
is for certain dangerous, which was formerly in

INVESTIGATION 337

doubt ; and can scarcely be without some indication
of a way, or ways, in which the danger may be
avoided. Communities in which investigators abound,
will, therefore, have a very real advantage over those
in which investigators are wanting ; and thus, in spite
of the double disadvantage under which investigators
lie, and of the discouragements that they suffer, the
communities that produce them will prevail over
other communities ; and in this way it will be
secured that investigators will always be forthcoming.
Occasionally, and in a minority of instances, that
tends to increase as the common advantage of
investigation becomes more and more recognised,
investigation is advantageous to the investigator
himself; and in isolated instances, in which the
investigation leads to results that are immediately
beneficial to large numbers, and the investigator is
able to reap the fruits of his own investigation, the
beneficial results to him are very great. For these
reasons, investigation is secure of continuance ; but
it is important to notice that the actual profit
obtainable by the individual, is not the most potent
motive prompting to investigation. The true and
actuating motive, in the majority of cases, is pure
curiosity — the desire to know — and although most
of the investigations prompted by pure curiosity
have no immediate biologic importance whatever, it
is easy to see how the instinct of curiosity arose out
of strictly biological conditions. For, in some cases,
investigation possesses a biologic importance to the
investigator ; and in very many cases it is of
importance to the community to which he belongs ;

z

338 CONDUCT book n

and for these reasons, the instinct of curiosity, which
prompts to investigation, is secure from extinction.
But we have seen again and again how a mode of
conduct that was originally followed for the attain-
ment of some ulterior end, comes in course of time
to be followed for its own sake, and without regard
to its consequence. It is in accordance with this
law of anticipation of motive, that investigation,
originally pursued for the discovery of danger or of
advantage, comes, in course of time, to be pursued
for its own sake, and without regard to any biologic
advantage to be gained thereby. The transition is,
in this case, all the easier, since, in many cases,
investigation, initiated for biologic reasons, attains
no biologic result. The practice of investigation
arises from the biologic importance of discovering
whether an appearance, incongruous with familiar
appearances, contains elements of danger. In
consonance with the importance of this mode of
action, arises the instinct — curiosity — which prompts
it ; and the instinct, once established, prompts
conduct for its own satisfaction, and regardless of
the end for whose attainment it took its origin.
Thus it comes about that phenomena of every order,
from the doings of our next-door neighbours, to the
movements of the most distant nebulae ; and from
the arrangement of the pattern on a pot, to the
arrangement of atoms in a molecule ; become objects
of curiosity, and subjects of investigation.

Curiosity is excited by incongruity with what is
familiar ; and the aim of investigation is to reduce
the incongruous to congruity. The dangers and the

CHAP. XXI INVESTIGATION 339

securities of what is familiar, are known, or are
believed to be known ; and with respect to them,
the mind is at rest. But the dangers and securities
of what is incongruous with the familiar are un-
known, and infinite possibilities of danger may lurk
therein. Hence, the incongruous is awe-inspiring
and terrifying. A horse or a dog that witnesses a
sheet of paper moved by the wind, is struck with
terror at witnessing apparently spontaneous move-
ment in an apparently inanimate thing. A human
being who witnesses table-turning and ' levitation,'
is inspired with precisely similar emotion from a
similar cause. Awe and terror are painful, and
arouse a keen desire to escape from them ; and
hence the eagerness with which we strive to explain
the incongruous ; that is, to bring it into congruity
with what is familiar. This eagerness, originating
with respect to things that inspire awe and terror,
is, by anticipation of motive, extended to pheno-
mena of all orders ; and, among the instincts that
seem to be primitive, but are in fact doubly and
trebly derivative, is that of finding explanations for
phenomena.

Our first endeavour, in presence of the unfamiliar,
is to attain knowledge : and knowledge is attained by
investigation. The unfamiliar thing is investigated ;
that is, it is submitted to the examination of the
senses. We look at it, listen to it, smell it, and
perhaps taste it. We touch it and handle it, so as
to ascertain its tangible qualities, — its hardness or
softness ; its smoothness or roughness ; its brittleness
or toughness ; its heaviness or lightness ; its rigidity

340 CONDUCT book u

or flexibility ; and when we have ascertained its
qualities, we assign to it a place in the scheme of
familiar things. We classify it as living or dead ;
as organic or inorganic ; and within these classes, we
classify it again, as noxious or innoxious, animal or
vegetable, eatable or uneatable, beautiful or ugly, and
so forth ; and this ascertainment of the qualities of a
thing, its reduction into the scheme of known things,
and the assignment of it to a place therein, is the
acquirement of a knowledge of the thing. Explana-
tion is applied, not to the statical, but to the
dynamical aspect of things. We know what a thing
is ; we explain how it became what it is. We know
that it moves, and the path of its movement ; we
explain how it comes to move, and to move in that
path. Explanation is, in short, knowledge of causa-
tion ; and this is the ultimate aim of all investigation.
Knowledge of the statical aspect of things, however
complete it may be, leaves us still unsatisfied.
' Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas.' Not
until we can explain the causes of things, do we
satisfy the restless spirit of inquiry ; and the
biological significance of this unrest is manifest.
Not until we have ascertained the causes of things,
can we subdue them to our purposes. Not until we
know how things happen, can we prevent or assist
their happening ; and it is to make things happen, or
to prevent their happening, that all our endeavours are
directed ; for it is the happening or non -happening of
events that determines the prevalence of the race, the
welfare of the community, and the survival of the indi-
vidual, from age to age, and from moment to moment.

CHAP. XXI

INVESTIGATION 341

The instinct of curiosity differs very widely in
different people, both as to its ardour and as to its
direction ; and investigatory conduct shows corre-
sponding differences. In ardour, there are all degrees ;
from the incurious person who is content to accept
every appearance at its surface value, without ever a
thought of verification, or of attaining an amplifica-
tion or a greater exactitude of knowledge ; who
regards happenings as conditioned immediately by
Fate, or by the will of the Deity, and seeks no inter-
mediate or proximate causation ; and at the other
are those who take nothing for granted, but find, in
the most familiar or the most trifling appearance, a
stimulus to investigation, that still increases in
range and in exactitude, and regards every explana-
tion as unsatisfactory, until it is itself explained.
Primitive investigators are content if they acquire
such a knowledge of a thing that they can recognise
it on a new occasion, and attach a name to it :
developed investigation demands an exact knowledge
ol all its properties, physical, vital, chemical, electrical,
and so forth. Primitive curiosity is content with the
explanation that a thing is so because God wills it
to be so : developed curiosity demands an explanation
of the precise conditions under which alone a thing
can come to be as it is, and an absolute and relative
quantitative measurement of the conditions that
produce a given quantity of effect. Primitive
curiosity is content with a single step, and is
complete if the immediate antecedents of a state
of things are identified : developed curiosity is un-
satisfied until a long series of causes has been dis-

342 CONDUCT book n

covered ; but both end alike in unexplainable mystery.
The difference is that primitive curiosity is content
to assert that mystery is unexplainable ; developed
curiosity is for ever concerned to push the unexplain-
able a step farther back.

The direction of investigation seems to be
determined, to some extent, by training and
opportunity ; but more largely by innate capacity
and character. A mighty mathematician would not
necessarily make an expert bacteriologist ; nor would
the discoverer of unsuspected philological truths be
by any means as competent in discovering un-
suspected chemical elements, or minor planets. The
main types of investigators are the investigators
of the concrete, and the investigators of the abstract ;
and these practically correspond with the accumulators
of knowledge, and the explainers. The first are the
pioneers ; the second the completers. The first
accumulate data for the others to utilise. The type
of the first is Linnaeus ; the type of the second is
Newton. Each is the complement of the other, and
both are necessary to the advance of knowledge.
Mere accumulation of facts, without corresponding
explanation, is barren of result. It is of no biological
utility. It achieves no mastery over events. Mere
explanation without sufficient accumulation of data,
is more often wronor than rio^ht. It leads to crude
hypothesis and erroneous generalisation. For in-
vestigation to be fertile, the two modes must go
hand in hand.

Another division of investigators is into those who
are curious of matters that are of immediate practical

INVESTIGATION 343

moment, and have a direct bearing on human
affairs ; and those who concern themselves mainly
with matters remote from material interests. The
division is a real one, but its boundaries are very
indistinct ; since affairs that are, for the moment, the
most remote from human interests, may at any time
prove to have an immediate practical bearing on
daily life. The observation of the heavenly bodies
rendered navigation possible ; and the recondite
investigations of Clerk Maxwell into electric emana-
tions, have resulted in the arrest of an escaped
criminal.

More material is the distinction between that
investigation which is directed towards the doings of
our fellows, and that which lies outside this range.
The action of others is of the most immediate
concern to all of us ; and curiosity with respect to it
is felt by every one. Our first interest is in the
action of others towards ourselves, but this is a
matter that does not need to be investigated. It
thrusts itself upon us, and makes itself felt; and
action of this character has already been considered
under the head of social conduct. Nor does the
action of others on others, as a matter vitally affect-
ing the welfare of others, or the stability of the
community, fall to be considered in this place. Out-
side and apart from these interests, there is another
interest that we have in the doings of others — a
curiosity to know of their doings, apart from any
effect these doings may have on ourselves or others :
a curiosity to know how they comported themselves
in situations of danger, of difficulty, of complexity,

344 CONDUCT

BOOK II

of embarrassment, of novelty even, and to trace the
course and effect of their conduct. It is clear that,
in this way, we gain a vicarious experience, that may
be of value to us in similar circumstances ; and it
seems probable that in this biologic advantage, the
interest in narrative and the drama may have had
its origin. This view seems to gain corroboration
from the way in which we identify ourselves with the
protagonists of the narrative. As we read, or hear,
or witness, the acting of the story, their troubles,
their joys, their successes and reverses, their triumphs
and humiliations, are our own. In the hero or
heroine we recognise ourselves, and measure their
doings by our own inclinations. In as far as we do
not identify ourselves with the depicted characters
of the narrative, we are actuated by sympathy with
them : they are our friends, our brothers and sisters,
our family, our intimates ; and all that happens to
them, and all that they do, are of vital interest to us.
Beyond this, we are interested in the story as
a progressive process, tending towards a climacteric
conclusion ; and the attainment of this conclusion is
gratifying and satisfactory ; or, more accurately, the
arrest and interruption of a progressive process is
irksome and displeasing, and is to be overcome by
pursuit to a settled end. The reason of this desire to
learn the conclusion of a story once begun, is not far
to seek. The whole conduct of mankind, and of all
animate beings capable of conduct, is the pursuit
of ends. It is in the pursuit of ends that all our
lives are passed ; it is to the attainment of ends that
all our energies are directed. Bafflement, interruption,

CHAP. XXI INVESTIGATION 345

delay, in the pursuit of ends ; diversion from the
direct pursuit ; are all irksome, displeasing, and
disappointing ; and the smooth progress towards an
aim, of whatever kind the aim may be, is gratifying
and delightful. It is out of this that a large part,
perhaps the largest part, of the interest of narrative
is derived. The initial difficulty of a narrator is to
arouse our interest in his story — to gain our
sympathy for his characters — and his next task is to
indicate the course they are travelling. Once he has
succeeded in these objects, the rest is easy. When a
moving object catches the eye, the natural impulse is
to follow it until it comes to rest, or passes out of
sight ; and once a story is on foot, we are interested
in following it to its climax, or as far as circumstances
allow. Although the interest in narrative and drama,
that is common to the whole human race, is a purely
recreative activity, extremely remote from biologic
advantage, the preceding considerations enable us
to trace its origin as a by-product of the biological
struggle. It owes its existence in some small degree
to self-interest, more largely to sympathy, and in still
greater degree to that desire to pursue an end, merely
for the pleasure which is inherent in the pursuit,
whether the end itself is biologically advantageous
or not.

Conduct of this order, like aesthetic conduct, to
which it is nearly allied, is three-fold. It may con-
sist in the passive reception of narrative, or the
passive witnessing of dramatic representation of a
narrative ; or in the invention of a story ; or in the
interpretation to third parties of a story invented by

346 CONDUCT book h

some one else. So close a similarity has led to the
inclusion of the labours of the creator of fiction, the
dramatist, and the actor, among the fine arts. If by
fine art is meant the creation of beautiful things, the
inclusion is not justified ; for stories can fulfil their
function, of engaging and maintaining interest, with-
out containing any element of beauty ; but if by fine
art is meant the pursuit, and the creation of interest
in a recreation, then, no doubt, narrative and drama
are fine arts ; but it is worth while to insist upon
the distinction.

CHAPTER XXII

RELIGIOUS CONDUCT

Religious conduct is one of the indirectly vital
modes of action, in that it has no direct bearing on
life- worthiness ; though it resembles the other modes
of action of this class, in having an indirect bearing
that is of great importance. Religious conduct has
intimate connections with other indirectly vital
activities. It is intimately connected with aesthetic
conduct ; for the religious emotion finds expression in
architecture, in sculpture, in painting, in music, in
richness of costume, in embroidered altar cloths, in
stained windows, in every kind of combination of
beauty of form, sound, and colour. Even the sense
of smell is appealed to by the burning of incense ;
even grace of motion takes its part, in religious
dances, in the expression of religious emotion.

Religious conduct has close relations, also, with
investigation ; relations that are sometimes amicable,
sometimes the reverse. Every religion expounds a
theory of the cosmos, and offers explanations of
events. Every religion upholds the accuracy of the
knowledge it inculcates, and discourages investiga-
tion that may tend to impugn the accuracy of

347

348 CONDUCT book n

that knowledge ; explains events by invoking the
will of the Deity, and frowns upon other explana-
tions.

Conduct prompted by the religious instinct — the
desire to propitiate a more or less exacting Deity, — is
prima facie, inimical to self-conservation. Every
religion inculcates, in greater or less degree, the
practice of asceticism, self-denial, and self-sacrifice ;
and valuable, and biologically advantageous, as these
practices are, to the life- worthiness of the community,
they are detrimental to that of the individual who
practises them. When asceticism is pushed, as,
under the promptings of the religious instinct, it
often is pushed, to the actual damage to health and
strength, its detriment to life-worthiness is manifest ;
and, in as far as religious observance exceeds the
time, effort, and energy, that can properly be be-
stowed upon indirectly vital conduct, and encroaches
upon those modes that are necessary to maintain the
conservation of self, in so far it is detrimental to the
individual. But the welfare of the individual is, as
we have seen, not the ultimate purpose of life. In
the scheme of nature, the welfare of the individual is
a very secondary purpose, liable to be set aside at
any moment, and sacrificed to the welfare of the
community, and still more unceremoniously to the
welfare of the race. The self-regarding instincts
have, however, a very strong valency, and are prone
to take precedence, in determining conduct, of both
social and secondary-racial instincts. It is in re-
inforcing these instincts, which are of so much more
importance to the ultimate purpose of life, that

CHAP. XXII RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 349

religious emotion, and the desires that it prompts,
are of such great biological importance.

For religious observance is inextricably bound up
with social conduct, and with reproductive conduct ;
and profoundly influences both. The foundation of
social conduct has been shown to be self-restraint,
and the foundation of reproductive conduct, self-
sacrifice ; and every religion inculcates self-restraint,
from the innumerable restrictions of taboo, to the
decorum of church service ; every religion inculcates
self-sacrifice, from the self-inflicted tortures of the
fakeer, to the collection after service.

The social advantage of the prevalence of a
religion, to the community in which it prevails,
consists, first and most, in the reinforcement and the
sanction that religion gives to the practice of self-
restraint generally. The association of mankind, as
of other animals, in communities, requires and neces-
sitates the forgoing of much of the spontaneous
activity of each individual, in deference to the safety,
the welfare, the comfort, and the" feelings of his
fellows. The other two great vital activities — the
self-regarding and the reproductive — are, as has
already been shown, antagonistic to the social
activities, which again detract from both, and yet
serve both. The time, the energy, the share of life
that are expended upon the conservation and ad-
vancement of the community, are abstracted from
being directly expended on the conservation of the
self, and on the reproduction of the race. They are
abstracted from direct expenditure on these aims,
and expended on social conservation, so that, by

350 CONDUCT book n

means of the maintenance of a stable, compact, and
efficient community, the conservation of the indi-
viduals that compose it may be the more secure, and
the continuation of the race the better ensured. In
order that the ultimate aim of life — the evolution of
a race of great staying power — may be most efficiently
compassed, it is necessary that a nice balance should
be preserved between the three primary modes of
activity. But of these three modes, two have, from
their much greater antiquity, a preponderance over
the third ; and constantly tend, in consequence, to
absorb the whole, or at any rate an undue share, of
the life of the individual, to the detriment of the
third, — the social department of conduct, — which is
of co-ordinate importance, and cannot be neglected
without injury to the other two. Hence, any influence
which tends to preserve the balance, and to corro-
borate and reinforce the social instincts against the
encroachment of the self-regarding and the repro-
ductive, has a very high biological value ; and the
community in which such an influence exists, will
have an advantage, and will prevail against those in
which it is absent. Hence we find that in every
militant community — in every community that has
had to sustain itself by strife with others, and has
prevailed, some religion is a dominant factor. Those
communities only are without religion, or allow to
religion but a small share of influence, that are,
like the Esquimaux, isolated, or protected in some
way against competition ; and those nations in which
religion has decayed, and its influence has subsided,
have been uniformly unsuccessful in their struggle

CHAP. XXII RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 351

against those in which religion has been powerful
and influential ; while caeteris paribus, the fanatic-
ally religious have been uniformly successful against
those in whom religious fervour has been lukewarm.
History is so full of illustrative instances, that it is
not worth while to adduce them, for every reader
can supply them for himself.

The only communities that have reached a very
high grade of organisation without the aid of religion,
are those of the social insects ; and in these, one of
the factors that conflicts with sociality is absent. It
is highly significant that the only communities that
have reached a high grade of organisation without
the assistance of religion, are those in which almost
the whole of the component individuals are sexually
neuter. The drones are but temporary and adventi-
tious constituents of the community, and there is but
one fertile female ; so that, virtually, the community
consists of neuters only. Hence, instead of three
conflicting fundamental instincts, there are, in these
communities, but two ; and the problem is vastly
simplified. It is true that these neutral females have
parental duties to fulfil, and possess corresponding
instincts ; but on the other hand, the self-regarding
and the social instincts are but little difierentiated ;
and the building of comb and the gathering of stores,
that subserve the one purpose, are equally available
for the other.

The biological function of religion is, therefore,
to exalt and inculcate social conduct, and to depre-
ciate and restrain self-regarding and reproductive
conduct. In the Jewish and Christian religions,

352 CONDUCT book n

which together influence a large proportion of the
human race, the fundamental inculcations are those
of the decalogue ; and these are occupied, first in
establishing a sanction, and second in applying this
sanction to the prohibition of such self-regarding con-
duct as is antisocial. It is true, and it is surprising,
that the decalogue inculcates no restriction of repro-
ductive conduct, for the seventh commandment is
directed against reproductive conduct not per se, but
only in as far as it is antisocial ; but this omission
from the decalogue is amply supplied, in the Hebrew
code by the prohibitions in Leviticus, and in the
Christian code by a body of doctrine, partly canonical
and partly traditional, which is strongly regulative
and restrictive of reproductive conduct. The en-
forced celibacy of the clergy, and of the monastic
orders, is not peculiar to Christianity, nor is it a
mere ecclesiastical discipline, instituted for the wel-
fare and aggrandisement of the Church. It rests upon
a far deeper foundation. It is a manifestation of the
fundamental function of religion, to frown upon, dis-
countenance, and restrict the two other primary modes
of conduct that conflict with social conduct. This is
the biological function of religion.

A large part of religious conduct is occupied with
worship and religious observance, which seem remote
from all biological implication ; but which have,
nevertheless, their biological value, which is to
emphasise and enforce the sanction under which the
inculcations of religion are made. In order that
these inculcations may be attended to, in order
that the prohibitions of religion shall be observed,

CHAP. XXII RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 353

and the exhortations carried out, there must be a
sanction behind them, or they will be of no effect.
This sanction is the power and will of the Deity
to punish the disobedient and the recalcitrant ; and
all religious observance has the effect — I do not say
that it is deliberately designed to this end, but it has
the effect — of impressing the observers with the power
of the Deity, and His willingness to interfere in human
affairs. No doubt, religious observance arises out of
this very impression on the part of the observers.
All religious observance is, in its origin, propitiatory,
and arises out of the belief that the Deity is, or may
be, ill-disposed towards His votaries, and must be pro-
pitiated. The origin of religious observance is in the
desire to propitiate a being who is malignant. I
know of no primitive religion in which the deities are
conceived as benevolent. As religion advances in
grade, the deities advance from malignancy to a
capricious indifference to the welfare of humanity,
and it is at a very late stage in the evolution of
man's concept of God, that He is regarded as bene-
volent. Even in its latest and highest development,
religious observance retains its propitiatory character,
and is occupied largely in deprecating the vengeance,
the ill-will, the severity, the justice, of the Arbiter of
human destinies. The result of these observances
is the creation and confirmation of a tremendous
sanction, endorsing the exhortations and prohibitions
of religion, and productive of a terror of neglecting
them. The splendour of the buildings that are
devoted to religious observance ; the elaborate cere-
monial ; the impressive music ; the gorgeous decora-

2a

354 CONDUCT book n

tion ; the appeal to every sense ; impress upon the
minds of the beholders a conviction of the profound
importance of the function in which they are engaged ;
of the might, majesty, dominion, and power of the
Deity for whose service the whole is undertaken ;
and of the appalling consequences that are likely
to result from disreo-ard of His behests.

o

Religious conduct is, therefore, divisible into two
categories — religious observance, whose object is the
propitiation of the Deity, and the rendering of worship
and honour ; and the carrying out of the behests
that the religion inculcates. These behests vary in
detail, and in their particular character, with each
particular religion ; but common to them all is the
inculcation of self-restraint, and the restriction of
reproductive activity. In either category, religious
conduct may be defective or excessive, and defect and
excess, respectively, of the two modes of conduct, are
by no means necessarily concurrent. It may, and
often does happen, that religious observance is
punctiliously complete, and may even be excessive,
and yet that the moral restrictions that religion
inculcates are utterly disregarded ; so that we witness
the strange spectacle of a bandit or an assassin
attending religious observance, and invoking divine
assistance in the perpetration of a robbery or a
murder. Again, we witness the punctilious adhesion
to a high code of moral conduct in the absence of any
religious observance, and combined with indifference,
neglect, and even contempt, of religious ceremonial.

Religious observance may be defective in two
ways. It may be simply defective, either from lack

CHAP. XXII RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 355

of what may be termed the rehgious iDstinct, or from
lack of training and example. This form of religious
conduct, like other forms of indirectly vital conduct,
exhibits extremely wide divergencies in different
people. Just as there are people who have no
appreciation of beauty, either generally, or in some
particular, as beauty of sound, or colour, or form ;
and are incapable of producing beautiful things of
either of these kinds ; so there are people who have
no pleasure in religious observance, either as taking
part in it themselves, or as witnessing its perform-
ance by others. Those whose minds have not risen
to the conception of the existence of a Deity,
naturally are not moved to action for the propitiation
of a Deity. The irreligious, those who are indifferent
to religion, who, denying, neglecting, or ignoring the
existence of God, take no part in religious observance,
are, for the most part, limited to dwellers in large
towns, or to those who have passed the early and
impressionable part of their lives in large towns.
And the reason is manifest. In towns, the vast
majority of things that engage attention are the
work of men's hands. There is little that is not
explainable by human agency. The great and im-
pressive phenomena and forces of nature are not in
evidence ; and such as there are, are presented, not
in their elemental aspect, but as unimportant
hindrances to human endeavour, such as rain and
wind ; or as contributing to human needs, as river
and sunshine. The unutterable sense of power and
mystery that is evoked in the mind by the contem-
plation of mountain, sea, forest, or illimitable plain ;

356 CONDUCT

by storm and flood ; by the wonders of vegetation
and of wild animal life ; are unknown to the dwellers
in a great city. His eyes are not uplifted to the sky.
The day begins and ends, l)ut its duration is scarcely
connected, in his mind, with the rising and setting of
the sun, which he does not witness. The glories of
sunrise and sunset, the forms and movement of
clouds, the wonder and mystery of the stars, gain
from him no attention. His interests are concen-
trated on what is passing immediately around him,
on the sayings and doings of his fellow-men, on what
is enacted in the room or the street ; and extend no
farther. What manifestly and directly aff'ects his
life, and determines his successes and failures, are
not natural forces, — heat and cold, rain and drought,
climate and soil, vegetation and animal life ; — but the
disposition and conduct of his fellow -men. Those
things are not brought to his notice ; or, if they are,
it is but by hearsay ; and they may be troublesome,
but are not catastrophic incidents in his life. They
do not strike at the roots of his existence ; they do not
plainly affect his life-worthiness ; they do not call
upon his vital activities ; and consequently, they do
not imperatively demand from him, as they do from
the countryman, a hypothesis of their origin. Hence,
it is in towns that scepticism has its origin and its
home. Unless religion is communicated by direct
inculcation, the town-dweller knows nothing of it ;
and even direct inculcation may not be easy, for the
soil is not prepared for the seed. Hence, it is in
large towns, mainly, that religious observance is
defective, that the natural tendency to it is often

CHAP. XXII

RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 357

wanting, and that the exertions of the clergy meet
with the least response.

A curious defect in religious observance is its
performance by deputy, or vicariously. Religious
conduct, and the instincts which prompt it, resemble
other indirectly vital instincts and modes of conduct,
in exhibiting a great diversity of degree in different
people. In some, the religious instinct, that is, the
desire of religious observance, is evanescent ; in others
it is very strongly developed. To some it is irksome ;
to others, grateful. Moreover, it will happen, in the
course of religious observance, that the propitiatory
value of the observance of some will appear greater
than that of others. The prayer of one is followed
by fulfilment ; that of another is not. Or, what is
the same thing for the purpose in hand, one person
will arrogate to himself, or will be credited by others
with, a superior efficacy in interpreting the will of
the Deity, and especially in modifying His intentions.
It is natural that, when such a belief in the superior
efficacy of any one is established, his services should be
invoked by others ; and it is natural, also, that such
services should have a value, and should demand, and
receive, remuneration. If the demand is sufficient,
the possessor of this superior efficacy will be able to
subsist entirely upon the contributions of the faithful ;
and thus is established, in every community, that
has advanced beyond a very rudimentary stage of
organisation, a priesthood, subsisting on the profits
of religious observance. The interests of the priest-
hood, no less than the belief in the superior efficacy
of their ministrations, will ensure that, more and

358 CONDUCT

more, the brunt and tlie burden of religious observ-
ance will be undertaken by them ; while to the laity-
will be left merely the duty of chiming in with the
priesthood, concurring with, and endorsing their
observance, but taking no part beyond that of a
chorus. In order that this subordinate function
may be fixed and cemented upon the laity, and the
distinction between them and the priesthood become
wider, deeper, and more impassable, religious observ-
ance will become more and more elaborate, more and
more mysterious, until it may at length require
years of training to perform with accuracy ; until it
may at length be conducted with ceremonies, and
even in a language, unintelhgible to the laity. By
this time, the priesthood become, in common estima-
tion, the sole repositories, not only of the power of
propitiating the Deity, but of His intention and will ;
and thus become the arbiters of the fate of the laity
in every respect ; and their arrogance and exactions
become intolerable. It has been shown supra that
religion is an important biological asset in the life
of a nation, and that caeteris j^ciribus, the religious
nation will prevail over the irreligious. It is now to
be noticed that the dominance of a priesthood is
detrimental to the life-worthiness of a nation, and
that, caeteris paribus, the priest-ridden nation will
go down before that which is not so dominated. For
a priest-ridden nation is, of necessity, and by its
constitution, poor, ignorant, and, what is biologically
more important, divided in allegiance, in comparison
with one in which the priesthood has little power.
It is, in comparison, poor, because the advantageous

CHAP. XXII RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 359

circumstances of the priesthood, which is an un-
productive occupation, attract into its ranks a large
proportion of the ambitious and the able members of
the community ; leaving the productive part of the
community, not only burdened with the support of an
enormous number of non-producers, but starved of
the ambitious and the able, who might otherwise be
employed in enhancing productiveness. It is, in com-
parison, ignorant, because the position of the priest-
hood rests, in the last resort, upon an assumption
that is unproved — the assumption of their superior
knowledge of the designs of the Deity, and influence
upon them. This assumption is unproved. It rests
upon authority and prescription ; and the effect of
investigation, in whatever direction it may be
pushed, is to break down the influence of authority
and prescription, and to issue, urbi et orbi, a writ of
quo warranto. For this reason, the power and
influence of a priesthood rests upon the suppression
of investigation ; and in fact we find that, wherever
priesthood has prevailed, — wherever a people has
been priest-ridden— there investigation has been
suppressed. I do not say — I am far from saying —
that the suppression of investigation has been
prompted by any conscious articulate notion, such
as has just been formulated, of the effect of investiga-
tion on the power of the priesthood. In this, as in
so many other matters, it does not in the least follow
that a course of conduct is followed because of any
clear anticipation of the beneficial results that do in
fact flow from it. It is followed because it is grateful,
pleasurable, and congenial to the actor ; and the

360 CONDUCT

beneficial consequence may never be recognised or
appreciated ; but the fact that it is beneficial goes to
enhance the lifeworthiness of the actor, and to ensure
that those who are prone to act in that way, shall
survive and prevail over those who act otherwise.
If there ever were a priesthood that approved and
welcomed investigation into anything whatever, that
priesthood would thereby be digging a pit for its
own feet, and preparing for its own downfall. The
only priesthoods that have prevailed, have been those
that have discouraged investigation ; and it matters
not to the eff'ect, whether the discouragement pro-
ceeded from a clear foresight of the result of per-
mitting investigation ; or from an unreasoned
prejudice ; or, what is probably most often the
case, from a dim and uneasy apprehension of some
untoward result. That the Church should have
ordered the destruction of the works of Aristotle, and
even of Aquinas ; that it should have discountenanced
Roger Bacon, burnt Bruno, and compelled Galileo to
recant ; seem to be the very acme of unnecessary and
wanton obscurantism ; but they were the expression
of a sound and vital clerical instinct. Once permit
the questioning of authority, upon any subject what-
ever, and the very basis of authority is destroyed.
Once admit the existence of doubt as to the validity
of the most unimportant detail of doctrine ; it is the
crack in the dam. It is but the breadth of a hair ;
the water percolates through it but in dew ; but
unless it is speedily amended, the whole dam will
give way, and a roaring torrent will overwhelm the
valley. The maintenance of a priesthood in plenary

CHAP. XXII RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 361

power, must mean the preservation of ignorance in

the nation that maintains that priesthood ; and in

the struggle for existence among nations, caeteins

paribus, the ignorant goes down before the instructed.

Thirdly, a priest-ridden people is a people divided

in allegiance. If we consider the factors, we see that

it must be so. If we examine history, we find that

it has been so. If we look around us, we find that it

is so. The secular government and the priesthood

struggle for supremacy ; and a large part of the

energies of every young community, and of many

communities that are well past their youth, is

engaged in a conflict between the secular and the

sacerdotal power. Such internecine strife detracts,

of course, from the efficiency of the external strife

with other tribes or nations, from which no tribe or

nation is free for long ; and from the efficiency of

the struggle with other circumstances, which never

ceases. The particular form that the struggle for

supremacy takes, or rather the pretext on which

it turns, varies in difi'erent cases. The priesthood

invariably claims exemption from military service

and other burdens which the secular government

requires of its subjects ; and one cause or pretext of

quarrel is the limit of these exemptions. The

priesthood invariably claims jurisdiction in certain

matters ; and another cause or pretext of quarrel is

the limit of this jurisdiction. Whatever the occasion

of any particular quarrel, each party claims the

allegiance to itself of the whole community, and thus

allegiance is divided more or less unequally between

them.

362 CONDUCT book n

From this digressive discussion of the origin and
influence of priesthood let us return to that mode of
religious observance which is conducted vicariously.
We have seen how the priesthood tend more and
more to monopolise religious observance, and to
make it more and more unintelligible to the laity ;
while the congregation tends more and more to
become a mere utterer of aniens. On both sides the
observance becomes mechanical ; but on the side of
the laity it becomes not only mechanical, but
impersonal ; and not only impersonal, but meaning-
less. The worshipper who finds that his worship is
taken out of his mouth, and conducted for him, and
that he is denied all part except that of giving assent,
is apt to consider that assent may be taken for
granted, or given vicariously, or sufficiently signified
by a pecuniary payment for a certain amount of
ceremonial, which he is under no obligation to
attend. First he purchases the services of an expert
to perform for him his religious obligations ; and
then, realising how mechanical these observances are
become, he purchases or constructs a mechanism that
can do all that is necessary without putting him
to trouble ; and thus the fervent religious votary
degenerates into the user of a prayer wheel.

Excess of religious observance is not very easy to
estimate. Being an indirectly vital mode of conduct,
it must yield precedence to the directly vital
activities, and be content with the occupation of that
time, that remains over after vital needs are satisfied.
It is obvious that this must be so, for, if the directly
vital needs are not attended to, the individual will

cHAP.xxii RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 363

perish, and religious observances will fail for want
of an observer. This holds good, however, of self-
conservative conduct only. The biological value of
religion is in the encourajj^ement that it affords to
social conduct, at the expense mainly of reproductive
conduct, but largely of self-conservative conduct also.
It is in the inculcation and enforcement of self-
restraint, that the biological value of religion consists ;
and self-restraint, like any other mode of conduct,
may be pushed to excess, and attain a degree of
asceticism that endangers life. Among the primary
self-conservative activities, is prehension of food, and
the self-restraint that religion inculcates, is commonly
extended to the practice of fasting, which may be
pushed to an excess that endangers life. Another
primary self-conservative activity is the maintenance
of personal cleanliness, and the blind antagonism to
self-conservation that is prompted by religion, may
extend to personal cleanliness ; so that the grade of
holiness may be measured by the degree in which
personal cleanliness is disregarded, and even outraged.
Thus the medieval Christian ascetics were notoriously
dirty. Thomas a Becket was acclaimed a saint as
soon as it was found that his body was swarming
with vermin ; and to this day, the fanatics of some
Asian religions are distinguished by their addiction
to dirt. Self- conservation demands freedom from
personal injury, and prompts the avoidance of pain,
which is the signal of danger to life. The antagonism
to self-conservation that is prompted by religion,
teaches the suffering of pain rather than its
avoidance ; and even goes farther, and prompts to

364 CONDUCT

the self-infliction of pain, injury, and even mutilation.
Important mutilation, the amputation of hand or
foot, or even of fingers, if widely practised as a
religious rite, would be so disadvantageous, as to
secure the failure of the community, in which it was
practised, to survive ; but an innocuous mutilation
would satisfy the religious craving for the defiance of
self-conservation, without really impairing the life-
worthiness of those on whom it is practised. Such a
mutilation is circumcision ; and we find, accordingly,
that circumcision, as a religious rite, is widely
practised, and has obtained in several distinct
communities. Whether the distortion of the feet of
Chinese women had a religious origin, I do not know ;
but such an origin seems more probable than the
motive, il faut souffrir pour etre belle ; and the case
of circumcision shows that the limitation to one sex
does not negative its religious character. The modi-
fication of the shape of the head, by compression of
the skull in infancy, which has been found to prevail
in certain primitive peoples, is, no doubt, a religious
rite, on a level with circumcision.

The same motive — the subordination of self-
conservative conduct, in order that social conduct
may have full play — inspires the various fantastic
self-torturings of the religious devotee. This motive
is at the root of the conduct of St. Simeon Stylites ;
of the Flagellants ; the Trappists ; the fanatics who
go for miles upon their knees ; who stare at the sun
from the rising up of the same until the going down
thereof; who cut themselves after their manner,
with knives and lancets ; who lie upon spikes ; and

CUAP. XXII

RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 365

practise other ingenious modes of self-torment. Of
course, it is not contended that the fanatics who
inflict these injuries upon themselves, do so with any-
conscious intention of thereby favouring social
conduct. What is contended is that self-restraint is
of immense importance to the common welfare — to
the very existence of the community — and social life
is impossible without the exertion of self-restraint.
Self-restraint having once become an ingredient in
the mental constitution of mankind, the natural
course of variation will ensure that in some indi-
viduals it will be defective, and in others excessive ;
and the instances adduced are instances of its excess.
The priests of Baal, who cut themselves after their
manner with knives and lancets, no more knew that
they were exhibiting in excess a mode of conduct
conducive to social welfare, than the child who eats
till it is sick, knows that it is indulging to excess in a
mode of conduct conducive to individual welfare ; or
the blushing maiden, who shrinks from the gaze of
her lover, knows that she is practising conduct that
is conducive to racial continuance ; but these are the
roots of the respective acts, nevertheless.

The welfare and stability of the community are
imperilled, no less by unbridled racial conduct, than
by uncontrolled self-regarding conduct ; and religion,
which is, biologically, an adjuvant to social con-
servatism, is antagonistic no less to racial than to
self-regarding conduct. Generally speaking, religions
frown upon the reproductive function, and seek to
keep it within bounds ; and this restriction, which is
biologically valuable and advantageous, easily slips

366 CONDUCT

into total prohibition, which is of course racially
suicidal. Chastity is a social asset of high import-
ance ; and religion, the guardian of social life,
inculcates chastity among the primary obligations.
Not realising its social function, but regarding its
code as an absolute standard, religion often fails to
recognise that there may be too much of a good
thing, and is apt to inculcate, not chastity only, but
celibacy. Universal celibacy would of course be
racially destructive ; but such occasional and indi-
vidual celibacy as some religions inculcate, is not to
be deprecated, for it is an object-lesson of what is
attainable. The inculcation of an austere chastity,
which it is the function of religion to instil, might
be met, explicitly or implicitly, with the objection
that it is a counsel of perfection, to which mere man
cannot be expected to attain. Such an objection is
demolished if religion can point to votaries who are
not merely chaste, but altogether celibate. Thus,
although celibacy is prima facie biologically un-
justifiable, yet occasional celibates within a com-
munity have their social use, just as neuter insects,
which, as solitaries, would become speedily extinct,
become, as members of a community, vitally im-
portant to the preservation of the race. Nor must
it be forgotten that the celibate members of a nation
are not wholly debarred from racial conduct in the
wide sense. In many cases, the religious celibate,
like the neuter insect, performs parental functions.
For many generations in Western Europe, the educa-
tion of the young was conducted solely by religious
celibates. For centuries, the only schools were those

CHAP. XXII RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 367

attached to the monasteries, and conducted by the
monks. It is only within the memory of those now
living, that religious celibates ceased to have the
monopoly of teaching in our Universities ; and to
this day, convent schools are among the best of
teaching institutions.

Excess may be exhibited, not only in observing
the behests of religion, but also in devotion to its
ceremonial. What frequency of prayer, and of
attendance at public worship, is to be regarded as
excessive, would be differently estimated by different
persons ; but there are few who would not regard in
this light the conduct of a young solicitor, who knelt
in his father's waiting-room, and prayed aloud for the
welfare and success of the clients who were there
awaiting an interview with his father. The practice
of saying grace before meat, and of invoking a bless-
ing on what is about to be consumed, is decorous and
seemly ; but when a person repeats a grace aloud
before each mouthful that he eats, it can scarcely be
denied that the ceremonial is excessive. It is curious
that the patient who acted in this way was a young
man who had been brought up by aggressively
agnostic parents, and had been taught to despise and
deride religious ceremonial of every kind.

Biologically, therefore, the function of religion is
to safeguard the community, by restricting those
modes of action that conflict with social conduct.
It is the inculcator of morality, of self-restraint, and
of regard for others. If its inculcations are apt to
become excessive, it is because religion does not
recognise its biological function, and certainly would

368 CONDUCT book n

not admit that this function is its primary purpose.
This is a matter that would be out of place to discuss
here. It is quite beside the purpose of this book,
and does not enter into its purview, which is to
regard conduct from a'point of view strictly biological,
to show the biological value of every mode of conduct,
and how every mode of conduct can be accounted for
on biological grounds.

There is, however, another connexion between
racial conduct and religion, besides that which has
been noticed. Religion not only inculcates the
restriction and limitation of racial conduct, but
provides for it a substitute and an alternative. The
enforcement of celibacy on the religious devotee, is
not merely a sign and manifestation of the primary
biologic function of religion, to promote and enhance
social conduct by deprecating racial, as well as self-
conservative conduct ; it is also a recognition of the
vital principle that human energy and interest, if
debarred from expending themselves in racial conduct,
must find an outlet in some other direction. Religious
observance provides an alternative, into which the
amatory instinct can be easily and naturally diverted.
The emotion, or instinctive desire, which finds expres-
sion in courtship, is a vast body of vague feeling,
which is at first undirected. It is not specifically
directed towards any individual ; and may not have,
at any rate at first, any sexual direction at all. It
is a vague yearning for self-sacrifice ; for aesthetic
display, and aesthetic contemplation ; for self-renun-
ciation in its various manifestations ; for the donation
of gifts, and the rendering of services ; for the ex-

CHAP. XXI. RELIGIOUS CONDUCT 369

pression of enthusiasm. It is a voluminous state of
exaltation, that demands enthusiastic action. This is
the state antecedent to falling in love ; and, if an
object presents himself or herself, the torrent of
emotion is directed into amatory passion. But, if
no object appears, or if the selected object is denied,
then religious observance yields a very passable sub-
stitute for the expression of the emotion. Religious
observance provides the sensuous atmosphere, the
aesthetic surroundings, the call for self-renunciation,
the means of expressing powerful and voluminous
feeling, that the potential or disappointed lover
needs. The madrigal is transmuted into the hymn ;
that adornment of the person that should have gone
to allure the beloved, now takes the shape of ecclesias-
tical vestments ; the reverence that would have been
paid to the loved, is transferred to a higher object ;
the enthusiasm that would have been expended in
courtship, is expressed in worship ; the gifts that
would have been made, the services that would have
been rendered to the loved one, are transferred to the
Church. Hence we find that religious observance
and courtship, are to some extent complementary,
and are closely connected. We find, not only that
celibacy is inculcated as a religious observance, but
that religious ceremonial is most observed by the
celibate. We find, not only that the most enthusi-
astic clergy are celibate, even when celibacy of the
clergy is not compulsory ; but that it is among
celibates, and especially among the disappointed in
love, that their most enthusiastic followers are found.
We find that while women, to whom marriage means

2b

370 CONDUCT bookh

so much more than it means to men, are naturally
more devoted to religious observance than men are ;
celibate women are much more devoted than married
women ; the maiden devotee loses much of her en-
thusiasm when she marries ; and the girl who is
disappointed in love, takes naturally to a life of
religious observance.

INDEX

a Becket, Thomas, 100, 363
Absolute prodigality, 117
Accumulation, 33, 79, 120
Action, abundant, 9

automatic, 55, 58

crude, 68

deliberate, 50

elaborate, 68

elicited, 3, 14

habitual, 55

imitative, 64, 184, 193

impulsive, 50

instinctive, 12, 43

involuntary, 53

novel, 55, 64

original, 64

reasoned, 12, 43

scanty, 9

self-indulgent, 44, 169

self-restrained, 44, 169

spontaneous, 3

voluntary, 53
Active morality, 261

opposition, 104
Adaptation of action, 5, 14, 38
Administration of means, 115, 249
Admiration, 145, 147, 150
Adultery, 252
Adventurous conduct, 107
Aesthetic conduct, 85, 316, 325
Aggressive conduct, 246, 275

opposition, 104
Agoraphobia, 107
Albigenses, 193
Alcohol, 91
Allurement in courtship, 293, 299

Ambition, 129, 145, 152, 165, 237,

269
Amceba, conduct of, 3
Anarchism, 164

Antagonism of authority and in-
vestigation, 360
of religion and self-preservation,

349, 363
and racial conduct, 349, 352, 365
of social and self- preservative

conduct, 220, 288
of social and racial conduct, 288
of self- preservative and racial

conduct, 288
ways of meeting, 101, 103
Anthropoid ancestors of man, 108
Anticipation of motive, 31, 160, 171,

338
Ants, 83

Applause and conduct, 148-9, 156
Approval and morality, 145, 156,

160, 169, 171, 173, 338
Ardour of male in courtship, 290,

295
Aristotle, 360
Arrogance, 149, 154
Asceticism, 47, 90, 100, 348, 363
Assault, 245

Astronomy, origin of, 334
Athletics and suicide, 172
Attention and conduct, 139, 142 /
Authority and morality, 174
and investigation, 359,
and religion, 359

Baal, priests of, 365
371 2 B 2

372

CONDUCT

Baboons, social conduct of, 262
Backbiting, 251
Bacon, Francis, 147

Roger, 260, 360
Balfour, Sir G., on drink, 91
Baynes, General, 188
Beating the bounds, 32
Beauty, means economy, 336
Beaver, conduct of, 45, 120
Bees, instinct of, 15, 17, 134

reason of, 18, 38, 44, 62
Bell-ringing, instinctive, 34
Beneficence, 129, 261-6, 228
Benevolence, 182
Bibliophile, and theft, 122
Birds, instinct of, 17, 62

reason of, 21, 42, 62

social conduct of, 262
Bivalves, conduct of, 24
Black Dwarf, the, 132
Blacklegs, 167
Boasting, 150, 154
Borgia, 252

Bottom the weaver, 144
Bower-bird, 121
Bragging, 150, 154
Briuvilliers, Marquise, 232
Bruno, Giordano, 260, 360

Capital, origin of, 121

punishment, 199
Carelessness, 245
Carlyle, T., 154
Caste, 206
Cat, reason in, 39
Cattle, 41, 262
Celibacy, 295-7

and religion, 366, 369
Ceremonial, 316
Change of custom, 210, 213

of fashion, 217
Character, force of, 187, 219
Charm of manner, 185
Chartism, 163
Chastity, 146, 168, 274, 366

in the male, 280

social value of, 278
Children, protected by all, 263

Choice and reason, 46

Church bells, 34

Churchill, Lord R., 141

Circumcision, 364

Claustrophobia, 107, 110

Cleanliness, 99

Climbing trees, 320

Collecting, 33, 79, 120

Combat, instinct of, 80

Common Law, and custom, 200

Common life, inhibitory, 134-6

Companionship, necessity of, 130

Conceit, 145, 149

Concubinage, 261

Conduct, factors in, 7, 15, 25, 36,
47, 217
spontaneous, 6, 217

Conformity, 134, 191, 203, 254

Conscientiousness, excess of, 246

Conservatism, 335

Coprophagy, 89

Corporate action, 203

Coughing, 53

Counter-attack, 104

Courtship, 289

Criminal law, 13

Criminals, 175

Crowds, conduct of, 201

Crude action, 68

Curiosity, 28, 85, 260, 265, 333, 341

Custom, 129, 191, 205 et seq.

Daintiness, 90
Dancer, Daniel, 119
Danger and curiosity, 335

conduct in, 101
Danger-cry, 102
Darwin, 80

Decalogue, the, 244, 249
Defaecation, 54
Deliberate action, 50
Deliberation, 52
Desire, 77

Diarists, indiscretions of, 137
Disapproval avoided, 155, 158, 169

how incurred, 155, 173, 243
Disease, 97
Disesteem, 145-7

INDEX

373

Dishonesty, 248

Dislike, 145

Disorder of conduct, 86

Divorce, 252

Dogs, 30, 102, 120, 123, 124

Dramatic interest, 85, 344

Dreyfus case, 163

Drunkards, kinds of, 94

Drunkenness, 92

Duelling, 201

Duty, 157

Earning of livelihood, 115

Eating, 78

Egotistic conduct, 226

Elaborate action, 5, 25

Elicited conduct, 5 ■

Elicited morality, 129, 155, 243

Elicited social conduct, 128

Elwes, John, 119, 120

Endogamy, 276

Ends, 28, 30, 77, 79

Envy, 235

Epileptic automatism, 69

Esquimaux, 350

Esteem, 145-8

Evil speaking, 250

Examinations and suicide, 112

Exclusive possession, 299

Exogamy, 276

Explanation, meaning of, 240

Facility, 188

Factors in conduct, 7, 15

Failure, effects of, on others, 151

Faithfulness of wives, 277

FalUng in love, 291

Falstatf, 146

Familiarity and curiosity, 334

Family, the social unit, 274

sanctity of, important, 277
Fashion, 129, 191, 254
Fashion and custom, 194-5

change of, 217
Fasting, 90

Female, in courtship, 289, 293
Fighting, honoured, 165
Filial conduct, 173, 311

First love, 292

Fishing, 321

Flight from danger, 103

Foker, Mr., 147

Food, selection of, 86

Force of character, 187, 219

Forks, 98

Fossilisation of reason, 30

Foundation of morality, 158, 202

Fox-hunting, 321

Freedom, and social life, 134

Friendship, 223

Galileo, 260, 360
Games, 197, 317, 321
Gentleman, natural, 184
Geophagy, 89
George IV,, 198
Glory, desire for, 146
Gluttony, 90
Good manners, 184
Good spirits, 184
Grace of motion, 323

Habitual drunkenness, 92, 94
Hammurabi, 229
Hamster, 103, 262
Helmholtz, 325
Hermaphroditism, 294
Hermits, 131
High breeding, 251
Howard, John, 147
Huguenots, 193

Idiocy, 89, 99, 114, 126
Illness, mollifying effect of, 263
Imbeciles, 99, 115, 126
Imbecility, moral, 178
Imitation, 64-7, 184
Income and expenditure, 115-18
Incongruity and curiosity, 334-8
Independence of character, 227
Indirectly vital conduct, 314
Inebriates, 95
Inebriety, 97
Infantile conduct, 4
Inheritance of acquired qualities, 60,
97

374

CONDUCT

Inhibition, 46, 160

by attention, 139

social, 129, 133-6
Innovation, a source of weakness, 164
Inquisition, the, 175
Insect communities, 286
Insects, neuter, 286
Instinct, 12, 27, 80-86, 78, 83

disorder of, 86

self-regarding, 270, 288
Instinct of combat, 80
Instinct of property, 123
Instinct, social, 130
Instinctive action, 13, 44, 50, 59,

65-7
Instinctive and crude action, 69
Intolerance, religious, 253-8
Intoxication, 92
Investigation, 86, 315, 333-6, 342

and authority, 359

and religion, 359
Irreligion, in towns, 355

Jackdaw, hoarding by, 121
Jealous conduct, 299
Jealousy, 275, 300
Johnson, Dr., on toleration, 256
Justice, 222

King, attacks on the, 161
Kittens, play in, 321
Knowledge, meaning of, 340
Kruger, President, 162

Lamb, Charles, 121

Latin, teaching of, 35, 206, 210

Law and custom, 200

object of, 272
Leading, 129, 186, 219
Liking, 145, 181
Linnaeus, 342
Liquidation of instinct, 36
Livelihood, earning, 115
Love, 283-5

at first sight, 296
Lowe, Robert, 141
Lust, 283

Macaulay, 295, 331
Malefactors, treatment of, 231
Maleficence, 129, 228
Marital conduct, 304
Marriage, mixed, 198
Martyrs, 172, 177
Matty, Miss, 250
Maxwell, Clerk, 343
Meanness, 118, 119, 227
Means, administration of, 115
Meg Merrilies, on death, 263
Misalliance, 146, 198, 291
Mill, J. S., on toleration, 256
Misanthropy, 129
Miserliness, 115-18
Modesty, sexual, 274, 283
Mohammedans, polygamy of, 281
Mole, reasoning in, 40
Monandry, 277

Monasticism, corruptions of, 295
Monkeys, social conduct of, 262
Monks, misconduct of, 131
Moral conduct, 155
Moral imbecility, 179
Morality and authority, 174

doctrine of, 173

elicited, 155, 242

foundation of, 158, 242

nature of, 272

spontaneous, 136, 167, 242, 261,
286
Morals and religion, 334
Motion, in nervous system, 4
Motive, anticipation of, 31, 160, 171,

338
Murder, 156, 245
Murderers, 231, 233
Mussels, 82
Mutilation and religion, 364

Napoleon, 147, 152, 163

Neuter insects, 286

New Dispensation, the, 252, 261

Newton, 342

Nidification, 17, 21, 37, 62

Notoriety, love of, 145

Obedience, filial, 311

INDEX

375

Obligation, sense of, 223
Obstinacy, 189
Occam's razor, 60, 61
Occasional drunkards, 96
Old maids, 292
Opinion, toleration of, 257
Oral expression, 136
Originality, 64
Overflow of instinct, 209

Paralysing eS'ect of danger, 101, 105

of attention, 140-41
Paranoia, 246
Parental care, 173

conduct, 306
Paroxysmal drunkards, 95
Parturition, 53
Passive opposition, 104
Patriotism, 129, 163-6, 236-40
Pepys, 137

Perversion of conduct, 87
Philanthropy, 129, 240
Pickard, 67
Pilgrim Fathers, 193
Pious conduct, 313
Pitt, 238

Play, 71, 317, 322
Pleasure and liking, 182
Politicians, motives of, 165, 237
Polyandry, 276
Polygamy, 281
Popish Plot, 163
Pose, 142

Presence of others inhibitory, 136
Pride, 139, 145, 149
Priesthood, 295
Priest-ridden nations, 308
Primrose, Moses, 116
Privation of companionship, 130
Privilege, legal, 251
Prodigality, 49, 115
Property, 123
Provocation, 275
Punishment, 230
Puritan conduct, 49, 259, 310
Purposes, 77-81

Race, importance of, 172, 269

Racial conduct, 288

continuance, 80

instincts, 83
Rat, reason in, 40, 120-21, 262
Reason, 12

and choice, 46

increase of, 37
Reasoned imitation, 67
Reciprocation of conduct, 221
Recklessness, 245
Recreation and play, 317

importance of, 221, 324
Recreative conduct, 7, 84, 316-24
Reflex action, 6
Reid, Dr. Archdall, 91
Relative prodigality, 116-17
Religion and asceticism, 363

authority, 359

biological function of, 352, 367

investigation, 347, 359

morality, 157, 354

nature of, 86, 347

social value of, 315, 349
Religious ceremonial, 347, 352

conduct, 354, 362-7

instinct, 86

intolerance, 253-8

observance, 357

sanction, 352
Remuneration and work, 268, 318
Renunciation and social life, 267
Repetition of action, 56
Reproduction and self-sacrifice, 288
Retaliation, 225, 228
Reversal of conduct, 87, 313

of instinct, 87, 111, 308
Reward of toil, 268, 318
Richardson, novels of, 204
Right and wrong, 159, 161, 170-75
Robbery, 156
Robins, instinct of, 123
Roman law and custom, 200
Running, 61
Ruskin, 154

Sacrifice and social life, 257
Sanction, religious, 252, 271, 280
social, 271, 279

376

CONDUCT

St. Dominic, 147

St. Francis, 147

St. Simeon Stylites, 364

Sanitation, duty of, 245

Satiation mth drink, 93, 94

Scepticism, in towns, 356

Self-approval, 170

-conscious conduct, 179

-conservation, 79, 82, 88, 289

-control, 49, 93

-denial, 47

-depreciation, 152-4

-indulgence, 47, 134, 169

-injury. 111

-possession, 144

-regarding, and social instincts,
270, 288

-restraint, 47, 118, 169, 183, 243,
252, 288, 365

-sacrifice, 131, 257, 270, 288

-torture, 49
Sexual modesty, 274, 282-6

qualities, intermingled, 294, 296
Shadwell, Dr., 91
Sheep, why unintelligent, 41
Showing-off, 142
Shyness, 129, 143, 189, 250
Singing of birds, 62
Skating, 56
Skilful action, 73
Skill, 73

Skilled action, 73
Snails, eating of, 69
Sneezing, 53
Sobriety, 93

Social and self-regarding instincts,
270, 288

bees, 134

conduct, 128

inhibition, 129, 133

insects and religion, 351
Social instincts, 82, 129, 131-3

life, advantage of, 82, 288
Soldiers, popularity of, 165
Solitary confinement, 130
Spectator, the, 12

Spider, conduct of, 15, 18, 38, 44, 62
Spiders' webs, 15, 18, 37

Spoilt children, 309
Spontaneous action, 3, 25

conduct, 3

morality, 156, 167, 242-6, 261

patriotism, 163, 236

social conduct, 128
Sports, 319

Squirrel, hoarding by, 120
Stage fright, 141
Standard of beauty, 329
Starvation of the soul, 131
Stealing, 248
Stimulants, 91

Stirp, preservation of, 172, 314
Strife in societies, gregicidal, 275
Struggle for existence, 82
Suavity, 129, 181
Subordination, 129, 186
Success, effect of, 147, 234
Suicide, double, 302

from jealousy, 301

motives of, 112, 114, 247
Suttee, 198
Swift, Dean, 295
Swooning, a fashion, 204

Tact, 186, 251
Tests, religious, 253
Timidity, 107
Timon of Athens, 132
Tolerance, 253-8
Traitors, 162, 164, 239
Trappists, 364
Treason, 129, 161, 239

Unchastity, 168, 170-73
Uncleanliness, 100
Unemployment, 125
Unfamiliarity and curiosity, 334
Unskilful action, 73
Unskilled action, 73
Urination, 54
Uxorious conduct, 306

Valetudinarianism, 107
Vanity, 129, 145, 149
Vermin, 100
Vindictiveness, 225

INDEX

377

Violence, 246
Volition and conduct, 7
Voluntary action, 53, 57
Vomiting, 53, 90

Walking, 56, 61, 65
War, 274
Watt, James, 67
Weak, protection of, 262-6
Wealth, 269, 275
Wilfulness, 312

Will of the community, 259
William IV., 198
Witchcraft, 175
Woman, a monogamist, 293
Work and play, 71, 317, 322

and reward, 317
Writing, 56

Written and oral expression, 136
Wrong, nature of, 161

Yielding to force, 103

THE END

Ptintedby R. & R. Claiw, Limited, Edinburgh.

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

8vo. I 2s. dd.

THE NERVOUS SYSTEM
AND THE MIND

A TREATISE ON THE DYNAMICS OF
THE HUMAN ORGANISM

CONTENTS
Introduction.
Part I. Functions of the Nervous System.

A. Physical.
Chap. I. The Nervous Discharge.
II. The Nervous Resistance.

B. Physiological.
Chap. III. Muscular Actions, their Co-ordination and Inhibition.
IV. Movements.
V. Co-ordination of Movements.

VI. The Nervous Mechanism of Co-ordination and
Inhibition.

Part II. Functions of the Nervous System.

Psychological.
Chap. VII. Conduct.

VIII. The Nervous Mechanism of Conduct.

Part III. Mind.

Chap. IX. The Constitution of Mind.

X. Thought.

XI. Feeling.

XII. Classification of Feelings.

XIII. Classification of Feelings {continued).

XIV. Classification of Feelings {continued).
Conclusion.

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